CASIMIRA

CASIMIRA
HERstory through ART
With words and images, I am telling my story.

Through art, I am remembering HERstory...

I've been blogging daily since 2007.

Follow me on HERE and HERE for daily posts...

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Updated Daily: January 2007 - February 2020

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Wednesday, April 19

bailando amor es que se me va el dolor


"Yo te miro, se me corta la respiración
Cuanto tu me miras se me sube el corazón 
me palpita lento el corazón 
Y en silencio tu mirada dice mil palabras 

La noche en la que te suplico que no salga el sol...

Tu cuerpo y el mio llenando el vacío 
Subiendo y bajando...
Ese fuego por dentro me esta enloqueciendo,
Me va saturando

Con tu física y tu química también tu anatomía
La cerveza y el tequila y tu boca con la mía
Ya no puedo mas 
Ya no puedo mas 
Con esta melodía, tu color, tu fantasía
Con tu filosofía mi cabeza esta vacía
Y ya no puedo mas 
Ya no puedo mas 

Yo quiero estar contigo, vivir contigo
Bailar contigo, tener contigo
Una noche loca 
Ay besar tu boca 
Yo quiero estar contigo, vivir contigo
Bailar contigo, 
tener contigo una noche loca con tremenda loca

Tu me miras y me llevas a otra dimensión 
estoy en otra dimensión
Tu latidos aceleran a mi corazón,
Que ironía del destino no poder tocarte
Abrazarte y sentir la magia de tu olor...

Bailando amor, es que se me va el dolor..."
- Enrique Iglesias 

snapshot of my sweaty shoulder after dancing...

Tuesday, April 18

dame de tu boca esa furia loca


"Ay, Rosa, Rosa tan maravillosa 

como blanca diosa, 
como flor hermosa 
tu amor me condena 
a la dulce pena de sufrir... 

Ay, Rosa, Rosa dame de tu boca 

esa furia loca 
que mi amor provoca 
que me causa llanto 
por quererte tanto, 
sólo a ti. 

Ay, Rosa, Rosa eres orgullosa 

y sin contemplarme 
tu fe se destroza 
mientras tanto yo 
agonizo por ti, ay! 

Ay, Rosa dame todos tus sueños 

dueño de tu amor quiero ser 
ay, dame de tu ayer las heridas 
vida, junto a mí has de tener, ay! 


Ay, Rosa, Rosa eres orgullosa 

y sin contemplarme 
tu fe se destroza 
mientras tanto yo 
agonizo por ti, ay! 


Ay, Rosa, Rosa pide lo que quieras 

pero nunca pidas 
que mi amor se muera 
si algo ha de morir, 
moriré yo por ti. 

Ay, Rosa! Ay, Rosa!"

- SANDRO



Monday, April 17

nadie se trastornaba como él

“To him she seemed so beautiful, so seductive, so different from ordinary people, that he could not understand why no one was as disturbed as he by the clicking of her heels on the paving stones, why no one else's heart was wild with the breeze stirred by the sighs of her veils, why everyone did not go mad with the movements of her braid, the flight of her hands, the gold of her laughter. He had not missed a single one of her gestures, not one of the indications of her character, but he did not dare approach her for fear of destroying the spell.” 

💙

“Le parecía tan bella, tan seductora, tan distinta de la gente común, que no entendía por qué nadie se trastornaba como él con las castañuelas de sus tacones en los adoquines de la calle, ni se le desordenaba el corazón con el aire de los suspiros de sus volantes, ni se volvía loco de amor todo el mundo con los vientos de su trenza, el vuelo de sus manos, el oro de su risa. No había perdido un gesto suyo, ni un indicio de su carácter, pero no se atrevía a acercársele por el temor de malograr el encanto."

- Gabriel Garcia Marquez (1927-2014)

Sunday, April 16

huevos, huevon, huevitos, huevona


Easter Sunday greetings amidst vintage images that intrigue me...













Saturday, April 15

la mirada que por fin te merezca


"If I'm to live without you, let it be hard and bloody, cold soup, broken shoes, or in the midst of opulence let the dry branch of a cough jerk through me, barking your twisted name, the foaming vowels, and let the bedsheets stick to my fingers, and nothing give me peace. I won't learn to love you any better this way, but abandoned by happiness I'll know how much you gave me just by sometimes being around. I think I understand this, but I'm kidding myself: there'll need to be frost on the lintel so the one taking shelter in the vestibule feels the light in the dining room, the milky tablecloths, and the smell of bread passing its brown hand through the crack.

As far apart from you as one eye from the other, out of this affliction I've taken on, will be born the gaze that deserves you at last." - Julio Cortázar translated by Stephen Kessler

in the original Spanish version...

"Si he de vivir sin ti, que sea duro y cruento, la sopa fría, los zapatos rotos, o que en mitad de la opulencia se alce la rama seca de la tos, ladrandome tu nombre deformado, las vocales de espuma, y en los dedos se me peguen las sábanas, y nada me de paz. No aprenderé por eso a quererte mejor, pero desalojado de la felicidad sabre cuanto me debas con solamente a veces estar cerca. Esto creo entenderlo, pero me engaño: hará falta la escarcha del dintel para que el guarecido en el portal comprenda la luz del comedor, los manteles de leche, y el aroma del pan que pasa su morena mano por la hendija.

Tan lejos ya de ti como un ojo del otro, de esta asumida adversidad nacerá la mirada que por fin te merezca." - Julio Cortázar 


Friday, April 14

una noche con Garcia Lorca


el me llamó y me contó lo siguiente:

"So I took her to the river.
I thought she wasn't married,
but she had a husband.

It was St. James' eve,
and almost as if agreed.
The streetlights went out,
the crickets went on.
At the far edge of town
I touched her sleeping breasts.
They opened to me suddenly
like fronds of hyacinth.
The starch of her petticoat
made a sound in my ears 
like a piece of silk
being ripped by ten knives.
Silver light gone from their leaves,
the trees have grown bigger,
and a horizon of dogs
barks far from the river.

Out beyond the rambles,
the hawthorns and reeds,
beneath her mane of hair
I made a hollow in the sedge.
I took off my necktie.
She took off her dress.
I, my belt and pistol.
She, four bodices.
No silken shell or spikenard
is finer than her skin,
nor did moons or mirrors
ever glow like this.
Her thighs eluded me
like startled fish,
one half filled with fire,
the other half with cold.
That night the road I ran
was the finest of them all,
without a bridle or stirrup
on a filly made of pearl.
As a man, I won't repeat
the things she said to me.
The light of understanding 
has made me more discreet.

I took her from the river
spiked with kisses and sand.
The sabers of the irises
were stabbing at the breeze.

I behaved as what I am.
A true-born gypsy.
I gave her a sewing basket 
made of straw-gold satin,
and refused to fall in love
because she had a husband,
though she said she wasn't married
when I took her to the river."

- Federico Garcia Lorca




Thursday, April 13

sentir, vivir


snapshot: my tiny waist and (100% natural) Kardashian curves, circa 1990s... 

I was in my early twenties and believed I was "chubby," when in reality my body was simply blossoming into a woman...

Today I am in my forties, with a baby daughter and able to rock my pre-pregnancy jeans. I may still be considered "chubby" by some standards, yet I embrace every divine curve my body offers...


snapshot: a recent selfie...I might get the courage to pose in a bikini one of these days, life is too short not to...

"Sentir, que es un soplo la vida,
que veinte años no es nada,
que febril la mirada,
errante en las sombras,
te busca y te nombra..."
- Estrella Morente


Wednesday, April 12

y que ponte los zapatos de tacón y taconea

- 2007 mixed media on paper -

"Es por culpa de una hembra 
que me estoy volviendo loco.
No puedo vivir sin ella,
pero con ella tampoco.


Y si de este mal de amores -
yo me fuera pa' la tumba,
a mi no me mandeis flores,
que como dice esta rumba:


Quise cortar la flor
mas tierna del rosal,
pensando que de amor
no me podria pinchar,
y mientras me pinchaba
me enseño 
una cosa
que una rosa es una rosa es una rosa...

Y cuando abri la mano
y la deje caer
rompieron a sangrar
las llagas en mi piel
y con sus petalos
me las curo mimosa
que una rosa es una rosa es una rosa...


Pero cuanto mas me cura,
al ratito mas me escuece,
porque amar es el empiece
de la palabra amargura.


Una mentira y un credo
por cada espina del tallo
que injertandose en los dedos
una rosa es un rosario..."

- J.M. Cano

amanecí muy Española...olé...
y que ponte los zapatos de tacón y taconea...

I woke up with this song in my mind...
Spanish dreams perhaps...


Tuesday, April 11

full moon


mother moon in all her fullness...

what dreams will you bring?

who will visit?


2017 mixed media



Monday, April 10

repressing it will not work


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


Sunday, April 9

the children they mark...they know


"There is a place where the sidewalk ends
And before the street begins,
And there the grass grows soft and white,
And there the sun burns crimson bright,
And there the moon-bird rests from his flight
To cool in the peppermint wind.

Let us leave this place where the smoke blows black
And the dark street winds and bends.
Past the pits where the asphalt flowers grow
We shall walk with a walk that is measured and slow,
And watch where the chalk-white arrows go
To the place where the sidewalk ends.

Yes we'll walk with a walk that is measured and slow,
And we'll go where the chalk-white arrows go,
For the children, they mark, and the children, they know
The place where the sidewalk ends."

- Shel Silverstein 

snapshot of my son 




Saturday, April 8

at her breast


"What she made. 

What she did. 

What we were to each other. 

What she taught me. 

What I learned at her breast. 

That she made things. 

That she made words. 

That she fed me. 

Suckled me. 

Clothed me. 

Cradled me. 

Washed me. 

We remember her labor..."

- Susan Griffin

wearable sculpture in a private collection modeled on my grandfather's bronze Venus 



Friday, April 7

el sabor de mis puntos cardinales


"Yo tuve un amor atlántico -

y me converti en sirena -

y en mi carne morena -

sentí el calor -

silbando fuerte a mi alrededor -

y tuve un amor lunatico -

y me converti en planeta -

y estuvimos dando vueltas -

en un baile silencioso -

las estrellas calladas -

como nosotros -

y ahora tengo un amor -

que es un calor -

que navega su aire en el viento -

que conoce mis buenos momentos -

mis males -

y el sabor de mis puntos cardinales -

yo tuve un amor antártico -

y la nieve me esperaba -

noche y dia fría, helada -

pero a mi no me importaba -

porque el hielo conservaba nuestro ardor 

y ahora tengo un amor -

que es un calor -

que navega su aire en el viento -

que conoce mis buenos momentos, mis males -

y el sabor de mis puntos cardinales..."

- Ana Torroja


Thursday, April 6

mis labios


yes, these are my lips...once upon a time I would sign letters and notes with a kiss...


my lips seem to form an open heart in the middle...


muahhh....

besos y besos y besos...

xo 


Wednesday, April 5

the list of loves


"When I meet you and you meet me I do not know if you are the last name on the List of Loves, or if you are to be nobody to me, or if you are just another name on this long list...

...When you are the last name on the List your name will be held close, and the List will be tossed: it will serve as kindling in our fireplace in our hearth.

You and I have not yet realized that we are the two human beings who will enjoy saying nothing together, being apart from one another together, having too many breakfasts together, drinking one too many drinks together, going horseback riding together, doing laundry together, doing parties together, raising children together, composting neurosis for awake together.

We do not either of us know who our best friend in this world in this life will be...yet: it is me and it is you..."

- Waylon H. Lewis

Tuesday, April 4

dance with me


"The first layer of consciousness is inertia. It is a level of non-movement: it is a level in which your energy, whether on the dance floor or in your psyche, is simply stuck.

Everybody experiences inertia. It is the groggy, barely conscious state when you first wake up in the morning. Or when you return to work from vacation. Or when you are in momentary insecurity about something or other. It is the state of despairing inaction when you've locked into the same routine day after day. The drugged passivity of TV watching. The stoned immobility of drug-taking, drinking. The moral and intellectual laziness of just getting by.

The only question is whether you choose to live in inertia or pass through it in the flow of your life - day to day, year to year, cycle to cycle. Inertia is seductive. It has characteristics of the ecstasy we're seeking and knew in the womb. It's natural, effortless, totally accommodating. But we're made to move, to become, to grow, to change, to create, and the true paradise of ecstasy lies not in inaction but in action that is so totally absorbing it seems like no work at all. Quickly the false ecstasy of lazing around, indulgence, and passivity takes its toll in the self-destructive effects of imploded energy...

...As a temporary resistance to the demands of life, inertia is simply a place from which to start. As you recognize its grip on you, you can confront it with movement and vitalize your being with the energy of change. You can summon the dancer within, the part of you that instinctively knows how to explore the full range of the body's rhythms. It is natural for the body to move, and the simplest way out of inertia is to start moving it. Stretch, lean, shuffle, swirl, with or without music, alone or with others. The easiest way is just to ease into flowing movements that will gradually seduce the body into the other rhythms. Dance is always available no matter where you are and is a ready catalyst to get your energy moving.

If you live in inertia - "waking sleep," Gurdjieff called it - as your basic energy level, as most of us do, your reality is comprised of a structure of unquestioned beliefs and frozen attitudes that are a bulwark against change. Movement and change are feared as painful and disruptive. The status quo seems to offer a haven of security. Truthfully, you are a wallflower at the dance of life, refusing every offer to move, out of fear of the unknown or of making a fool of yourself; you don't make the effort. But this holding back - hanging on tight to everything, especially your body, which becomes the repository of all your repressed feelings, thoughts, and action - used up all your physical, emotional, and mental energy. And you have nothing to show for this use of energy but the same old patterns and a deteriorating body and spirit. Because you don't dare to breathe life in and let it out, you live on a very restricted energy supply.

At bottom, inertia is the level of being unconscious, the home of the victim, the place where life just happens to you and you're unaware of your responsibility to create your own reality. It's the level of the pregnant woman who obviously chainsmokes, the macho laborer who stupefies himself every night with a six-pack, the high-powered executive who's married to his job and measures everything and everyone, including himself, by company standards, or the actor who has nothing to say without a script.

In inertia we want our life and friends to be stable, predictable, homogenized. It's so much easier to be in control when things around us don't change and we have the security of the known. We stay in an unhappy marriage or job or situation for years and years rather than risk the uncertainty, the adventure, the pain of venturing forth. In fact, all our "adventure" is planned and prepackaged, innocuous and ultimately dissatisfying - we buy the hype of cruises, cars, beer, movies, to sate our frustrated desire for true novelty and authentic experience. 

Often we turn around and watch even our children lock themselves into routines and perspectives that suffocate them, choke their growth and spontaneity, and snuff out the sparks we saw burning in them when they first entered the world. It hurts as we watch them lock into the vicious spiral of victimization, resentment, isolation. Or of flattery, melancholy, and self-importance. We know all the dances all too well. We taught them the steps. We reinforce these patterns rather than acknowledging our children's pain and guiding them to face the challenges that will nurture their growth. Because we are not bold, not warriors, we don't empower our children - to their lifelong detriment. Seeing their weakness, cowardice, and compromising is to watch parts of ourselves die, the parts that are young and fresh and full of promise.

Listen to the voices of inertia: Don't rock the boat. You're making a big mistake. Don't act impulsively. You've got to plan ahead. Be careful. Be prepared. But think of your family. Think of your friends. But if you do that... Don't burn your bridges. You'll regret it. You'll be sorry."
- Gabrielle Roth

so, my dear I invite you to step onto the dance floor with me...it is time to seduce the body into other rhythms...

Monday, April 3

despeinada




"Mereces un amor que te quiera despeinada, con todo y las razones que te levantan de prisa, con todo y los demonios que no te dejan dormir. Mereces un amor que te haga sentir segura, que pueda comerse al mundo si camina de tu mano, que sienta que tus abrazos van perfectos con su piel. Mereces un amor que quiera bailar contigo, que visite el paraíso cada que mira tus ojos, y que no se aburra nunca de leer tus expresiones. Mereces un amor que te escuche cuando cantas, que te apoye en tus ridículos, que respete que eres libre, que te acompañe en tu vuelo, que no le asuste caer. Mereces un amor que se lleve las mentiras, que te traiga la ilusión, el café y la poesía.” 

- Frida Kahlo


Sunday, April 2

to see things (and people) in their true dimension



“At times I feel as if I had lived all this before and that I have already written these very words, but I know it was not I: it was another woman, who kept her notebooks so that one day I could use them. I write, she wrote, that memory is fragile and the space of a single life is brief, passing so quickly that we never get a chance to see the relationship between events; we cannot gauge the consequences of our acts, and we believe in the fiction of past, present, and future, but it may also be true that everything happens simultaneously. ... That's why my Grandmother Clara wrote in her notebooks, in order to see things in their true dimension and to defy her own poor memory.” 


- Isabel Allende



Saturday, April 1

let's go my darling


"April in Paris,
chestnuts in blossom,
holiday tables under the trees...
April in Paris,
this is the feeling,
no one can ever reprise,
I never knew the charm of spring...
I never met it face to face...
I never new my heart could sing...
never missed a warm embrace...
till April in Paris,
whom can I run to?
what have you done to my heart? "


- E.Y. Harburg / Vernon Duke (circa 1933)