I watched this documentary on Netflix over the holidays. Thank you Eva Hesse for your inspiration. I’m making sculpture again.
I just replaced the corrupted hard drive on my iMac and had to download a new Creative Cloud package so no more Adobe Fireworks for me… very sad! I loved Fireworks! At least I have a copy of Fireworks CS on my old G5 from 2005…. an ancient dinosaur … just like me lol…
BTW- Thanks to Cedars Sinai Urgent Care for the stylish mask and excellent medical care. Good to know that all I had was strep throat and not the flu or oral gonorrhea!
A production company saw some of my performance work and asked me to make an audition video for the Gong Show. When they found out that I had sex with a prostitute on realty TV, I was denied an interview because Disney was producing the show. Music, performance, production design, camera & edit by Margie. Special thanks to Molly Shea!
photo by my friend James Oseland
Last night I dreamt I was helping an old professor of mine prepare for a party in her house. My father was there, but he is dead. There were two bodies of my father actually and both standing around looking withdrawn and out of place. My father was younger than I ever remember him being. He also had a day or two or beard growth, something my father would never have, He shaved every day at least once and sometimes more if he was going to a social occasion in the evening. His skin was reddish brown as if he’d been burnt from long regular periods of exposure to too much sun. His skin was more tanned that I remembered it ever being. There was a brown or burnt mark on his cheek as if he’d been further burned in one smallish spot, like from leaning against a light bulb.
I kept a distance from him. I could feel him ask me: Why are you afraid of me? I don’t recall if he had an audible voice or not. We may have been communicating telepathically. He thought that I possessed some prejudice about him. I didn’t understand what he was talking about because I’d always believed that he was the prejudice one not me. Was I afraid to talk to him because I was and prejudice about his being dead? Or was I prejudice because he was blue-collar and sun burnt from working outside? He did not look happy being dead. There were two exact images of him as if he was split in two, but two complete bodies. One spoke to me, and the other stood was off to the side, maybe looking away at the people in the other room or outside. He looked like he was forty years old, not eighty-something., the age he would be if he were alive today. Although he looked lost and kind of sad, he told me not to be afraid.
I looked around and saw other party guests off in the distance- people close in age to him who are still alive. I saw my partner’s parents and my old professor. My mother was not there. She was not invited to the party.