The go forward

To be happy you have to find variety in repetition; that to go forward you have to come back where you began (Jeffrey Eugenides)

This is something I'm allucinated about. I needed, for many reasons, write a blog about what you just read.

Yet again, I have provided a wonderful entertaining (to myself) with letters to my dear friends and especially Bella. Bella is a breath of fresh air and does not have the God complex that seems to afflict so many of us. She's my "come back home to go forward". If I had to physically come back home I'd never again leave. But honestly not to come back is what finds variety in life. Does that make sense? Probably not.

I found variety in starting over again. Pleasure that assures me to be strong. I've changed houses, homes, lovers, wind, frames, landscape...but no dreams. I've got back home once...to take another look, to see it again, to make it disappear, to watch them carefully, until I understood.

My boyfriend decided to start a blog with good things, so he can find hope and growth. I've decided to find my variety without start all over again. To learn how to deal with repetition...without being bored. Knowing that I have a boyfriend for a year is already a good start. Since I started dating, relationships were never my safe point (and no, it's not because of my latin blood). Lindo is just different. It makes me feel safe in a Land of Strangers. And love even when I don't. I'm struck by how comfort he makes me feel. But I'll write about him later.

I acted as a child, starting at age seven, and this artistic outlet probably helped me survive in places which I felt so out of sync. Before I had no real understanding of the cute, the coy, the bad. I may not be entirely even though I should. I consider everything as cute...having multilingual skills makes it easier.

My mother saw the world as a scary place. But she taught me how to deal with. She took me down to the ghettos at age 10 to understand people's struggle to survive. She bought me sex's manuals (I found out babies don't just pop up out of nowhere at age 6) just in case I needed. And had regularly gynecologist's appointments. She shared with me my first glass of wine at age 15. I hated it. I got drunk for the first time at age 19. And never again. She helped me to be the best math student in class. Of course she was a master in calculus. She couldn't draw or paint but she gave me pencils and paintings when I first asked. She worked her ass out to be an example. I guess I work my ass out now. It worked mom. My dad, in the other hand, made me love books. And be honest with myself. I was a tomboy near him. He'd have to talk me into girly stuff. I loved soccer and play in the streets instead. I had countless barbies that were never touched. And my room had its pink walls covered with my paintings. Now, I don't wear pink...by choice.

At age 13 I asked them for therapy. They stared at me for minutes before the word "No". I guess they knew what they were doing. And of course, there are mothers and fathers, and lovers and children, all trying to figure out how to live in a way that is true to themselves.

I find it embarrassing to talk about how much I love a sentence. Like the first you read. I find unseemly and vulgar to talk about how much I love Lindo. It makes me feel revealed. If anything has slowed me down, it was the fear of being all in. Of being exposed - not in terms of people watch me or what they think of me - but in revealing to myself how much I care. That I care so deeply. That it all matters so much.

Letter to Bella IV - Need for values

Hey Bellacita,

Here I am in Boston at last. My temporary "life-style"...where I'm in right now is taking the next level. As I woke this morning I caught sight of my "new" resolutions...that are not as new as I taught. I haven't been able to paint lately...and don't know why. I have only roamed around my room, my bed, my pencils and my front porch (when it's not 5 degrees out there). I even smoked...smoked cigars to dare myself to death. Or smell my grandpa from the air....so he could tell me what to do. Whoever I talk to, everything is nice, charming and, indeed, captivating. But I see no way to go. Which is absolutely not normal for me...

I'm in a state of glass....I can see where but just feels unreal and frozen. After some searching I'll be able to tell you more. I've classes starting this month which I'm suppost to be excited about....but hell no. I may need to be frank and tell my mom I'm frozen and need some time off. From everyone maybe.

Last night there was hot water running and steaming room where I work and I enjoyed like it was my last day. Or my first. First and Last are always the best. Rhyme. Pause. Got a phone call.

There's a huge window from the floor to the ceiling that looks onto the street...where've been spending my stretching hours. And thinking. Sometimes not thinking at all. Many mirrors...I can see thirty copies of myself if I wish.

It's true that it's not the best time for letter writing, but I'm hard pressed for your letters. I owe you two letters though. But in this initial period of the year I cannot, and will not, do any differently, and I'm doing my best to put aside what I had in mind when I came here. I'm definitely not interested in exhibitions. The few I have seen in art dealer's galleries were enough to make me realize something that is not new and has long haunted me like a nightmare...how life there is in these pictures and how little they have to do with today's life. There's nothing but decorations in nicely furnished salons. I'm envious of those who can paint the way others repair shoes or write business letters.

I have developed such high expectations of life and of my own values, that my life will loose its goals and all its meanings if I cannot make these values manifest. I never say what I think when I need...even to my own love.

But let's drop these thoughts, which are not exactly carnival-like, and also those, even less carnivalesque, that I've been trying to brush this carnival atmosphere. Besides all...I feel completely at home.

much love.

and cheers to a new year.

Letter to Bella III - One song at a time

Hi Bellacita,

Life. For the first time in my life Bella I had the most challenging year. Nevertheless, I don't take a dim view of my future. It's almost Christmas and in ten years' time (or perhaps less) my Mom and Dad will get use to me as the wench I am now. I sent them postcards and little figures of my last work. You'll get them as well...be patient. You know I'm a "MULA" with time and get things done. This, of course, does not mean that I want to do something consciously on time. I had to reformulate my own conception for making art. I came to the conclusion that art is one "song" at a time. I see its true value. Just like when we were 15 years old singing "Samba de verao" by caetano...and thinking how that one song became part of that one moment and will die with us. Isn't amazing? Music....songs....art. The good art. The pure and essential. I hope that someday I'll play piano...so could follow the dreamings of my little figures. All we need is time...time...time...(gosh...Theory of relativity...why Einstein?) time...time..tempo! But so far...after so much adversity and so many unexpected obstacles I still cannot believe I'm back in Gringolandia. I have always felt, that something would come up at the last moment making my departure impossible. It has been a year. A year of crazy dilemmas. If I want it...if I don't. Do...don't.

I'm a bit upset, while I believe I've a reason to rejoice. However it's about life. I can see numerous examples here of how difficult it is to succeed in art ( I mean in terms of making a living). Sometimes I wish I'd listen my parents. I will suffer the songs of my long years....and dance Samba whenever I feel like doing it. And lift a broom instead of a pencil.

Soon I'll see you again. And tell your mama I love her to death.

Cheers to our next long year.

much love.