Archive for December, 2008

Slam Dance Dream

Posted in dreams, socialization with tags , , on December 16, 2008 by darcyarts

The astrologers had warned me that I would have a flurry of planets at odds with my natal planets surrounding the time of the full moon.

It turned out to bear some soggy fruit.

I had another why-the-fuck-can’t-you-do-it-better-faster Sunday phone call from Ms M.

I wish she could grasp the fact that her harangues, rather than spurring me on to greater heights, actually act more like a stun-gun on my nervous system. I can’t function well for at least 40 minutes after an aggressive, snarly exchange. That’s where it devolves.

The first time she called while I was doing my best to keep up with a mountain of shit, I thought okay, feed the internet beast MORE MORE MORE!

Unfortunately, in the mean time my semi-stunned  state was laced with thoughts of her poor communication.

“Wait a minute! She never said I had to post an item every time it began to snow somewhere!”

The bile began to back up and when she called a second time I was just like No Way! You never said that.

Of course that leaves the slam-fight door open — her move — “Do I have to tell you everything!!!????

It got worse from there. I know she is under incredible pressure. But that, my dears, is her choice. She must be making some good money to lower her quality of life to that degree five days a week. She needs to cool it on letting her angst degrade everyone else’s quality of life.

I don’t get extra pay to be made to feel like a naughty child. The pursuit of humiliation is kinda perverse.

Wait a minute.

Have I hit on something?

Some little  secret buried deep in that special part of the brain pan?

Just kidding.

One of the cool things about a low profile is the secret cloak of invisibility.

Cha cha cha.

I dreamed that I was walking with some cooly bent hipsters. I  was singing The Stooges “Your Pretty Face is Going to Hell.”

Awwright! Woooohhhh!

A pretty face and a dirty love
knew right away that I had to get my hooks in you
yeah yeah yeah
I’m running low on memories
If you wanna make a buck boy, you gotta be a tease, uhuh
I say yeah yeah

I need it all, baby, that’s no lie
I need a lover with an alibi
I wanna fall into a love so sweet
Honey baby baby I’m hard to beat

A pound of flesh and a touch of bone
Smells in the air and I’m feeling so alone, uhuh
I say yeah yeah
Hallucination true romance
I needed love but I only got a chance, uhuh
That ain’t all

I’ll tell ya honey it’s a crying shame
All the pretty girls they look the same
I wanna fall into a love so sweet
Honey baby baby I’m hard to beat

Wooooh hey hey
Your pretty face is going to hell
Your pretty face is going to hell
Honey honey I can tell
Your pretty face is going to HELL!!!!

A pretty face and a dirty love
knew right away that I had to get my hooks in you
I say yeah yeah
I’m running low on my memories
If you wanna make a buck, boy, you gotta be a tease,
uhuh and that ain’t all
I say yeah yeah

I need it all, baby, that’s no lie
I need a lover with an alibi
I wanna fall into a love so sweet
Honey baby baby I’m hard to beat

Woooh yeah hey
Your pretty face is going to hell….

Sweet cuddles

Posted in Art with tags , , on December 13, 2008 by darcyarts

cutekittyIs this not the sweetest thing you’ve seen today?

I think I am in the process of making many, many kitties happy.

I have sold mass squid over the last week.  I’m stitching like a pro.

My granny’s cat was delirious when I gave him a new one packed with a super helping of catnip.

One day they will call me Queen of the felines.

People seem to like the gnome prints in my etsy shop.

I wish they would love prints of my paintings but when I think about it those faces are my passions.

People love Pete Townshend though.

Love and Work

Posted in Art with tags , , on December 11, 2008 by darcyarts


 I’ve been keeping myself busy this week getting holiday greetings and packages together, shipping off Etsy orders.

I sent another giant red squid to Australia. The third one!

These squid are stuffed with a lot of organic catnip. Granny’s cat loves his squid.

I have stopped a couple of times at the local thrift stores.  I found two packages of rainbow yarn that I will use to affix my darcy arts tags to squid and other critters like the Squidopus:

Also found at the thriftstore this week is this strange little box. Strange I think mostly because I found it in Redding.

It is a small box (3″ x 2.5″) with a picture of Leon Trotsky, Frida Kahlo and Diego Rivera on on the top.


The bottom is adorned with little blue drop shapes.


fridaboxtopsideWho made this box and then gave it away?

hjbackdropbPictures of Halloween Jack in mysterious Victorian disquise also took up some of my time. I did a photo shoot with this fellow on Tuesday.

hjstudioshotaStill haven’t got around to coloring the beautiful Arthur Lee but I will after the holiday bustle is loosened.

Hearing all the mind-boggling news about the wipe-outs in print journalism causes me to imagine that tensions at the old news factory will continue to escalate.

I pray to the beings of light that each in their heart can intuit the massive changes that are roiling and crashing to bring about a different world. It’s got to happen people. Lets be giving and shine our love on one another as the old ship rocks on the waves.

Did we think it was going to be easy for this massive sea vessel to transform itself into a small speed boat while negotiating a stormy sea?

Tisk Tisk. What ever we do let’s do with humor and love. Is that asking too much?

Raw Power Crazies

Posted in music, projects with tags , , on December 8, 2008 by darcyarts

Picture from this site.

I took the Stooges “Raw Power” out to the car and slipped it into the CD player.  It’s called Raw Power for a reason and that reason is obvious in the first five seconds. Then it just keeps blossoming like “a nuclear ‘A’ bomb.”


This music always gets me cranked up but this time it got laced into a Walter Mitty flight of fantasy.

I imagine that I have a huge work space in an industrial setting in the heart of a city. It has windows composed of a couple of dozen individual squares, the panes weathered and milky with age.

I work out every day, hard, until I drip sweat. I execute squats, kicks jumps, bends. I shimmy up ropes and swing like a monkey.


This is the place where my band and I meet everyday, flip the switches on our amps, slam the drumsticks on the skin and work our way through every song on Raw Power.

“Dance to the beat of the living dead. Lose sleep baby and stay away from bed.”

Months later I’m ripped and we’re ready to go. We launch the granny girl-band Raw Power tour. We hit the venues with a vengence and bring down the house every single night.

“Raw Power is more than soul. Raw power got a daughter called rock and roll. Raw power no, hey just wont quit. Raw Power I can feel it.”


Posted in family, socialization with tags , , on December 6, 2008 by darcyarts


Back on the patio. You can see it’s screened in.

Joe and Alberta never had children. They slept in separate rooms. I don’t know what that meant for them. Uncle Joe was much older than Alberta.

Her nickname was Babytot. That’s what my grandmother, Kathleen, called her. They were very close.

Kathleen and Harry are my father’s parents.

Family gatherings are strange. How did we, the above group, come together?

My Uncle Joe, being a pastry chef and Italian, grew up in a culture where people gathered around the dinner table and ate long leisurely meals.

One thing I enjoyed about being at Alberta and Joe’s, in addition to the food, were the aromas of things that we didn’t have in our home. There was the smell of old fashioned soap made of lard and lye. There was the smell of panetone when Christmas was near. There was the smell of baked beans. I loved them. I haver never tasted anything like them. They were kind of sweet but not like the things you can buy in cans. They were baked until they were dry and had a unique flavor that even now I can’t identify.

There were half gallons of ice cream in the freezer. Alberta would unfold the tabs on the square paper container and just slice off an inch thick slice and put it on a plate. No bowls. No scooping. It made sense.

There were pine nuts, chicken, cakes. Everybody seemed fairly relaxed. It seemed like real family. Not forced, although Kathleen never got along with Gertrude. Usually Gertrude stayed home.

My dad and uncle are incarcerated or in the process of getting that way at this time. My mother, age 21, was finding out she had cancer of some reproductive organ and I believe giving birth to another sister I never knew.

I had been sick with tuberculous for a spell sometime between my first and second year of life. When I was ready to be released from the hospital, ready to leave behind the weekly chest xrays, the shots and the solitude. I could not be around other children for a while so my grandparents came and took me to live with them.

I was told that I would talk to no one for six months after I left the hospital and moved to my grandparents house.

Something broke the dam of silence and I became quite chatty, they said.



This is a picture of my great-grandmother, Marie, my mother Terry, my grandmother Kathleen, my sister Colleen and I. This must have been after I was let out of the hospital. Was it before my sister was given up and then reclaimed by my grandparents? There is no date on the picture but I’m younger than in the picture above. My mother and Colleen must have been visiting me. There is no one left who knows. 

My mother visited my grandparents house just before she died. I was seven. She seemed like a stranger. Not very interested in me at all.

I can’t blame her. She was ripped off, sick and soon to be dead at 27.

My father had been a friend of her brother’s. She had been a teenage girl in a convent when he first met her.

He never treated her right. He was a mean, self-absorbed ass. It’s the truth. Some people are creeps.

She had a twin brother named Chuck, Charles. Their last name is Bourbon. All the many brothers and sisters (16) were named for kings and queens. James, Charles, George, etc. My mother’s name was Margaret but she took the name Teresa in the convent and she was Terry afterward.

Chuck came to visit my sister Colleen and I  a couple of times after my mother died. He was cool. He hated my dad.

I can’t blame him, either.

He often visted Terry’s grave. She was buried under a beautiful tree in a memorial park in Glendora. She chose the spot before she died.

I met up with my uncle again. I was a young woman living and working in Santa Barbara. Chuck came into the coffee shop where I worked the graveyard shift.  In the wee hours of the morning I poured coffee for a good looking man 20 years older than me. he looked up at me and said “Do you know who I am.”

I looked at him, looked in his eyes. I felt his energy.

“You’re Chuck. My uncle,” I said, a little surprised that I remembered after all that time. But I did. He was familiar and had a face like the mother I must have buried deep in my mind, deep in some far away corner of my heart.

Pink Roses, Peaches and Food

Posted in family, socialization with tags , , on December 4, 2008 by darcyarts

albertasThe woman sitting in the center of this photograph from 1955 or 1956 is named Alberta. She’s sitting beside the woman standing. That’s Kathleen, my grandmother. Kathleen was a fashion plate. She is wearing cat-eye glasses. They may have had rhinestones set in them.

I am the youngest member of this luncheon party.

Clockwise from the curious, wiggly, little-child me,  is my beloved greatgrandma, Marie. Next to her is my grandfather, Harry. Beside Harry, the person connected to the black shoulder, the nose and one side of an eyeglass is his mother, Gertrude. Then Alberta, Kathleen, Harry’s red-headed wife and then Bob, Gertrude’s husband.

The person taking the picture is Alberta’s husband Joe, or Guisepi. He was a pastry chef who worked at Hollywood Park racetrack or was it Santa Anita?. Back in the day they must have had a full kitchen, restaurant or food service.

Alberta was a big woman, very kind, and stoic. She’d experienced alot of pain. You can see it on her face. Once, on a Christmas Eve, before I knew her, she was hit by a drunk driver as she crossed the street. That was in Chicago, I imagine, where she and Joe and Marie, her sister lived. They’d gone up state from Peoria to the big city.

Alberta spent years recovering but afterwards always walked with a strange gait. She wore lovely heavy ladies shoes that looked like they were well made sometime in the ’40s. She had a funny laugh. One of those that when it got started kept going like a car that wheezes and jumps and won’t quite shut off. She grew orangey-pink roses in her back yard, the one above, in Lakewood, California. She had a peach tree, too.

I would wander in her little back yard drinking in all the colors and textures and scents of the sweet fruit and flowers. Somehow the memory of the soft rose petals and the soft fuzz on the peaches is melded with the memory of Alberta’s perfumed and powdered, lightly rouged cheeks.

I see that my sister is not yet with us. Colleen, was born a year and a half after me. It must have been very close to the time that my grandparents fetched her from where ever she was being kept after my mother gave her up.

More later. Off to do errands.