I Built a Fairy House

Early this year I received an email inviting me to participate in an annual fairy art exhibition at Sands Point, NY. Last year I did a painting titled “The Bird Fairy” and this year I thought, I’d really love to build a fairy house which is something I’ve wanted to do for many years. Since I was a kid, I’ve always loved all things having to do with elves and fairies and even named my first cat Tinkerbell.

When I began to think of how to design and construct the fairy house, ideas came to mind. Biomorphic shapes, rounded forms. Drawing them out didn’t really help as I just couldn’t figure out how my drawings could be translated into material form and built to stand on their own. This is when I placed some materials on a table and just began to play. Like the intuitive process when I paint or dance, I let it be spontaneous and allowed things to form on their own. That is when it took shape.

The exhibition has strict rules about using only natural materials on the exterior. The inner structure can be made of anything, but whatever is seen with the eye has to be items from nature and nothing that is picked or killed (a rule I really like). Luckily, as I began the house, whenever I went out for walks in nature I found a lot of downed branches, leaves, and bark. We had had a lot of wind storms over the past few months and after each one I went out and found parts to add to my house. I did purchase some dried moss and a bouquet of small magenta roses on sale after Valentine’s day, but mostly everything else were things I already had or found.

There were times I almost gave up because it felt like a puzzle I couldn’t solve. Seriously, my brain was aching at times and I often had to take a few days off from working on it. The amount of detail and the time put into piecing together each little area felt overwhelming, but as it came together and I felt such peace in the work, and peace in sitting and simply gazing at it, a dwelling I was building, the joy of it lead the way to finishing it. I love this house.

When I entered it into the Fairy House Invitational, the form asked what the name of the house is. I came up with one name that was not quite right, and then thought about the way the house feels and came up with the name Treacle Chirp Cottage. It feels very right. The fairy house stands about two feet tall and it is large but light to lift.

And it lifted me to make. After having gone through a depression over the winter, I really needed something to focus on that reminded me of my abilities as I continue to heal from the strokes. I think this house helped me in many ways and I’ll miss it while it’s at the exhibition in May. At the same time, I hope it makes people feel the same sense of comfort, sweetness, and magic that it makes me feel.

A few posts ago I wrote someplace that I could use a little fairy magic. Well, it wasn’t long after I wrote that, that the email came with the invitation to enter the fairy art exhibition. If we call out, even with just our hearts, there is always an answer. There is a whole big wide world out there and in many corners of it are lovely people planning beautiful, whimsical things. Mr. Rogers said, “Look for the helpers.” I say, look for the helpers, the artists, the creatives, the healers, and the dreamers. Or just let your heart call to them, as I did. Then there will be a doorway open to some of the most wondrous things.

Art and Identity

Here I am circa 1990 or ‘91 wearing my painting pants and holding my cat Daisy. Those pants a few years later would be immortalized when my boyfriend at the time rescued them from the trash and had a 12” x 12” square of them framed in an elaborate gold frame as a gift for me. Friends always said the painting pants looked like art themselves.

This is a photo of me that one of my dearest friends posted on her social media page (which I later saw) after I had strokes in January 2022. It was scary for all of us, and that makes me so sad but also grateful that there are a few who care about me that much. This is the photo, of all photos of me there have been. She chose this one. Maybe because this one clearly says “artist”. That is how most people think of me. But these days I’m not sure how to think of myself. After the strokes, my first thing was to move my right hand and see if the ability to draw was still there. It was, thankfully, even though it is not how it used to be. Not quite precise and more easily tired. Painting was another thing that called, as it was something I’d done for decades and suppose Artist is the main title I can claim, above all others. So painted I did, and many circles. They are here in their own gallery on my website, all from 2022. Did I paint because I wanted to or because it was what I knew best?

Who are we, really? Are we what we do? What happens if our abilities change, or our desire for them diminishes… what then are we? The technical skills are still there after decades of doing it, and the little callous at the top of my right middle finger from holding pencils and brushes which I was so proud to get in my mid teenage years as a symbol of the dedication to my craft. Suppose I’m seeking, as I feel so very, very different and some people who know me don’t want to see me identifying with being a stroke survivor, and all of them want to see me happy.

But that’s the thing. I AM a stroke survivor and there is no weakness in saying that, especially because I’m saying it not from a place of victimhood, but from a place of strength, power, and resilience. When I led my first flute workshop at a local assisted living facility last year, walked in with my cane, spoke slowly and simply, told the residents I was a stroke survivor and then proceeded to lead the presentation from a powerful stance with the intention of empowering them as well, if they were open to it, it made a difference. People came up to me afterward to thank me. One lady walked with her walker and asked if she could hug me. She said I helped her and gave her hope because she had had a stroke too and she was teary and said she was scared and I knew EXACTLY how she was feeling and yet told her to have hope and that we can still heal. This is why I tell people I am a stroke survivor. It helps others to see if I can do what I am doing and that I haven’t given up, they don’t have to give up either. I’m a stroke survivor and watch what I can do, wobbly as I am, visibly diminished from the abilities I used to have, still going every single day as best as I can. The flute program was just one example. I’m a flute player. I’m an artist. I’m a stroke survivor who continues to move through what I’m feeling, believing somehow (hoping, sometimes barely by a thread) that my life might make a difference somehow in this crazy messed up world.

So as I struggle to figure out who I am now and who I am becoming as I continue to heal and change day to day… sure, I am an artist… sure, I am a flute player… sure, I am still a shamanic practitioner… but the catchall label that seems to fit best is stroke survivor, because everything else gets filtered through that. And there it is, and here I am. Hello, who are you? I am a stroke survivor.

A Birthday and 9-11

I wrote the folllowing several years ago:
Having a birthday that falls on 9-11 makes one think very deeply about the meaning of life. On that tragic day, so many of us lost people we knew, friends, family. The world was hit hard, punched in its gut. Celebrating a birthday was the furthest thing from my mind. The following year before September, I started an online support group for people whose birthday fell on September 11th. I wasn't sure what kind of reception it would get, but it didn't take long before people started posting and sharing how guilty they felt, like I did, about celebrating on a day when such a tragic event had occurred. The group lasted a few years and then petered out. One thing us 9-11 babies concluded was that we need to keep celebrating, not stop. We need to celebrate our 9-11 birthdays because there are so many who would have given anything to have one more day of life. So I celebrate, and I remember as well.

In 2011, the 10th anniversary of 9-11, I did a 9-11 butoh "Walk of Remembrance" through Huntington Village, starting at the library and ending at the 9-11 memorial in Heckscher Park. I needed to do it. I remembered with a full heart... those I knew who perished, and those I didn't. It was done with great reverence and love. Afterward, some friends and I went out to celebrate my birthday, and life. Here's to LIFE.

My Flute Journey

The flutes are so important to me, not only soothing but healing and fun. And I had no idea this year, that playing flutes would become such an important part of my journey.

I have been playing different flutes since I was a teenager. My first flute was a bamboo flute that is played to the side, that I bought at a craft fair. I loved it and played it so much and still play it. Shortly after, still a teenager, I began listening to Renaissance music so my parents bought me a recorder flute. I still have that and enjoy playing it. Then, after my father passed away in 2007, I inherited his Native American-style flute. The sound of it was so earthy and soothing. I began playing it often.

Last year when I had the strokes, I left my father’s flute in my car on the hottest summer days and only realized earlier this year that it had cracked. That's when I researched flutes actually made by Native Americans (many say they are but aren't) and I found Blue Bear flutes where I got my Googol pine flute. I was so happy with it that I made a video giving Blue Bear Flutes a great review. The video review has since received hundreds of views on my YouTube channel. That is also how a very kind, generous man wrote to me and offered me flutes he could no longer play. They are flutes I could never have afforded to buy myself, and were in different keys, giving me more options. I began playing them every day and I love it. I even play to backing tracks, which helps me play with a certain tempo and expand my playing in other ways. In June, a drum and music circle was born in a nearby park where everyone is kind enough to ask me to play my flutes while they drum. It's such a great joy!

Because of the flutes, I have a new dream that can be realized through a few different avenues. One is to eventually find other musicians to play music with, preferably funk/jazz (my favorite) where I’ll play my flute and the others will play the instruments they play (I have absolutely no preconceived notions of what these instruments might be). We’ll perhaps create compositions to play out for the public or be completely improvisational. Either way, we’ll be - not a band, more of an ensemble though that sounds so formal - a group that will meet regularly and play what we love playing, creating together. Finding the other members of this group will be perhaps the toughest part, but I believe that if it’s meant to be, it will happen.

Another way my dream of playing flutes can be applied is to help others, as the flutes have helped me. In an online stroke survivor support group, I shared about my aphasia and said that music is helping, particularly flutes. If it's helping me, it can help others too. So one of my new goals is to reach out and help others with the flutes, especially many stroke survivors who, as I do, have an easier time communicating through art and music than with speaking. I will play for them and help them find their voice by guiding them to play their own flutes. The man who sent me flutes, sent me extras to gift to people who would like to play them for their own healing, so I am saving them for this purpose. (Thank you, Julian!)

I now have a sense of purpose, for the first time since the strokes. I have a new dream, though I know I am still very much in Healing Mode, with balance issues, crushing fatigue, and other things. So I will go slowly toward this new venture.

Artists Without Egos

Here’s a little flashback into one art exhibition I had in 1995 or thereabouts. This series of exhibitions which took place at Sea Cliff Beach in Sea Cliff, NY on Sundays with a different artist each week, was appropriately named. The artist goes there for one day, hangs their art, sits there for about 6 or 7 hours, and then takes everything down and goes home. If an artist has high expectations, this was not the show for them, hence the name “Artists Without Egos”. I was grateful for the show, though. Always am grateful, as you never know who will see it.

Years ago (years before this photo was taken), I was honored to meet the artist Mort Kunstler who I was introduced to by a family member. Mr. Kunstler invited me to go talk with him about art, about being an artist, and he had suggestions for me. He shared his story with me of his humble beginnings and said to show my art wherever and whenever I could, as often as possible, as you never know who’s going to see it. This is exactly what I have done ever since and he was right. There were times when I might have thought that a small non-gallery exhibition would be a waste of time, but I went for it anyway and something really good happened. Sometimes it was a sale, or the sale of five paintings at once - when I least expected it. That was great advice that Mr. Kunstler gave me and I am still grateful for the time he spent talking with me that day.

It was nice sitting at the beach the day this photo was taken and having a few friends stop by to see my art. There were no sales that day but it was okay. It was part of being an artist - getting my art out there however I could. Getting it out into the fresh air, out of the stacks in my studio space, to be seen by anyone who would care to look. No-one can see it at all if it isn’t out there, so there it is.

The Art of Music

On Friday, June 2nd, I attended the Opening Reception for The Art of Music, an exhibition where five of my paintings are on display at Westbury Arts in Westbury, NY through June 30th. I am really happy to be part of this show.

The theme of the show is to have art that was created by people who also make music. I’m one of six people in the show and the only woman. I’m pretty sure the other artists primarily identify as musicians whereas it’s the other way around for me. Actually, I don’t even consider myself a musician, though some kind friends insist that I am simply because I create music. I think of myself as an artist who uses music as another medium to express myself, but the term ‘musician’ feels beyond my experience. I almost didn’t enter this show for this reason, but after asking a few friends what they thought, I went ahead and went for it. So glad I did. The others in the show have separate time slots on different days when they’re performing with their bands on the stage at Westbury Arts. That option was offered to me, but between my low energy level these days as I continue to recover from the strokes and the fact that I don’t play with others (I wish I did!), instead, at the Opening, I played an improvised melody on my Native American flute. It was a joy to play and a video of my presentation is on my YouTube channel, as well as on the Westbury Arts Facebook page.

Music has always been a huge part of my life. As a kid, I wanted to be a musician before I ever picked up a paintbrush, but in our small house it was easier to do art. My art has saved me throughout my life, being a solo pursuit and one practiced in quiet for the most part. As an adult I need music to create my art. Every painting is done to a certain type of music or to a particular song that is played repeatedly until the work of art is finished.

One memory from when I was very young is the small child’s organ we had that I enjoyed playing. I really wanted a drum set but in our small house there just was no way it would work. When I was about 8 or 9, I took piano lessons and my parents got a piano from one of their friends which they situated in our dining room - the most vulnerable place for me to practice, so I didn’t. Instead, I’d stay up in my room and color in the pictures in my piano lesson book. When my piano teacher saw it, she chuckled and told me I was going to be an artist, not a musician. She was right.

Over the years I had wooden flutes - a bamboo flute I bought as a teenager at a craft fair, and then a Renaissance-style recorder. As the years went by, new musical instruments made their way into my life, including hand drums, percussion, tambourines, bass guitar, acoustic guitar, asalato/kas-kas, tanpura, and other wonderful music items.

I can’t mention making music without mentioning Douglas. I am still grieving deeply and continue to discover things that were part of our life together. One postcard announcement of our Watercolor Tape recently emerged from an old folder. The Watercolor Tape was a cassette tape with music that Douglas and I created together. I hand painted the labels with watercolor paints. He had a recording studio and knew how to play so many things. He also had a beautiful voice which I and only a roomful of people ever heard in his only performance at Dr. Stella Russell’s Salon in 1994. Douglas had terrible stagefright but was so incredibly gifted in so many ways. When we were together all those years, we had many jam parties and attended the IMF at NYU a few years in a row. I really enjoyed making music with him and at the time, I didn’t think I could sing so I mostly did a spoken word type of thing. I have a compilation CD from the IMF one year where Douglas put a song on it for me, one that I “sang” to called Wicked Rain. The lyrics are really sad (probably due to the sadness of losing my mother and other members of my family at the time), but I remember creating the sound samples with my voice and Douglas putting each sample on a different key of the keyboard so I could play them as he played the background part. Pretty cool.

These days I enjoy playing my flutes, djembe, box drum, a small dingy drum I call it (small steel drum), learning acoustic guitar, and singing. I recently discovered a Music Circle that meets regularly and it’s perfect for me in so many ways. I’ve really, really missed playing with others and still at my age dream of being part of some kind of musical group one day, perhaps with ethnic instruments or voices or something else entirely that will come together organically when I meet the right people. I also do recordings on my own with different instruments and post them on my SoundCloud page, or make videos for my YouTube channel of me singing in my own language which feels easier since having mild aphasia from the strokes. Music is a healer, as is Art. If I had to choose one, I don’t think I could.

Hooping is Healing

I am so grateful to know some extremely talented people in the arts and the healing arts. One of them is my friend and mentor Emily Eisen who visited me recently. Thanks to Emily for her encouragement and support to do something I love which also helps me to recover physical abilities. With the physical issues I deal with day to day, it can be a struggle to get motivated. But the hoop helps me and I enjoy it so much.

Here's what Emily posted on my social media page with the videos she took of us hooping. She had never seen an LED hoop before so it was a blast showing her and having fun with the hoops. Emily wrote: "My soul sister Robyn turned me on to led hoop flow dancing! Soooooo much fun. Robyn is so graceful and beautiful and knows wonderful movements to create these light designs. She originally learned it as part of her movement rehabilitation after 3 strokes! This is a woman who has a passionate zest for life and finds her way to meet her challenges. These strokes were close calls and dramatically changed her life as she knew it….she continues to inspire me…..still dealing with the effects of her strokes on so many levels….she carries on with grace and commitment." 🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻👍🥰

That made me cry, in a good way. Bless her heart! Thanks to Emily also for the photos and video. She's an amazing person in so many ways (including a gifted artist) and teaches and empowers many through her work BrainWorksPlus. Please look her up - she will inspire you! Emily's website: https://brainworksplus.com/home

The Exhibitioner Art Magazine

Happy 30th birthday to The Exhibitioner Art Magazine, born into being in May, 1993. It was a labor of love with my partner at the time, Douglas Craig. The beautiful artwork of my dear friend Renata Zednicek is on the cover. I did the layout, editorial, and Douglas and I both handled the selection of artists, printed pages, folded covers, and delivered them in person to galleries from Manhattan to the Hamptons. We met so many wonderful people during this time and we also curated shows for our artists at a local gallery in Sea Cliff, NY. Three prestigious libraries had standing order subscriptions for every issue - MoMA (NYC), Rhode Island School of Design, and C. W. Post/LIU Library. We thought that was really cool.

Since last year’s strokes and other losses, I am doing a lot of review of my life and sorting through milk crates of things I haven’t seen in years. Among them I found this proof copy of the very first issue, along with a photo that I had considered using on the editor's page. What a trip it was to look back in time and find this. Someplace there are copies of every issue but for now just seeing this one is making me feel nostalgic in a big way, especially since Douglas is gone and yet I am finding so many pieces of physical proof of our life together and of our many creative collaborations. There isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t think of him and feel the grief hit me hard.

Aside from bringing back those memories, seeing this copy of the magazine reminds me of one of the things I did in my life that I consider to be a big achievement. For the years we published the magazine, I was an editor, publisher, and curator. There were so many talented artists I met through the magazine and some became friends I still know to this day. This post ties into my previous post about making your own parade. This magazine was created along those lines… although not so much to do my own thing, but to try to find a way to keep myself going after I had to stop working because of health issues. That vibrant young woman sitting on the trunk of that amazingly reliable ‘71 Chevy Nova had just received an unnecessary pacemaker by an incompetent doctor, dealt with ongoing heart arrhythmias, asthma attacks, and hospital visits. The magazine was a bright light. It reminded me of what was important to me and that there were certain things I did have control over, including how to spend my time whenever I felt well enough to dive into something. That magazine was something, and even though “zines” were big in the 90s, we didn’t think of this as a zine. It was an art magazine.

Here's to the 30th birthday of The Exhibitioner! May it have created some positive, funky, joyful ripples in the world.

Sea, Sand, and Wind Carrying me Forward

Yesterday I walked almost to the end of the beach where the sand is covered with water when the tide is high. And I walked without the cane… slowly and with arms out for balance. It was wonderful! The air felt so glorious and being out there on what felt like my own little island was so peaceful and exhilarating at the same time.

Sand is easier for me than floor or pavement when I walk. Despite some intense arthritis pain that has developed over the winter (perhaps post-covid which I had last September), I get up and do the best I can to continue recovering from the strokes. It is a long recovery, but I see glimmers of progress as I move along through my days.

I always want to live near the sea, always. It is so healing for me... the feel and fragrance of the salty air, the sound of the waves, the colors of sea and sand, and the sight and sounds of the gulls as they soar, dive, and dance in the air around me. It’s a different world at the beach. Yesterday was mild and even warm, hitting the mid-70’s and yet the wind is so much stronger at the beach that I had to wear my coat. But the air was comfortable without a chill.

This is my favorite beach. It is a harbor that leads out to Long Island Sound which leads to the Atlantic Ocean and I like it because when I swim there in the summer, the waves are gentler than they are at ocean beaches. And I don’t need to have smooth white sand like the beaches on the south shore, as soft as it may be. The rocky north coast beaches are fine with me and allow me to build little stone circles and moats when I spend time there in warmer months. I like stones.

And the sea is truly healing. The salty water. Swimming here in summer is a joy and if I am having any kind of stress or physical pain, the cool salt water takes it all away. This is the topic of one of the entries in my book “Memoirs of a Little Ghost”. One summer years ago when I was recovering from physical pain (it may have been when I was first diagnosed with arthritis or after I had been bitten by numerous deer ticks and became extremely ill), I remember going to the beach as often as possible to find relief. It worked every single time and then a gorgeous sunset would be a perfect ending to the day. I always want to live near the sea.

As I walked yesterday, I thought of the water and its power, which I greatly respect. I thought of my ancestors who came here on ships from different European countries and thanked the water for holding them up on their long voyages, for keeping them safe. These are just some of my thoughts as I walked along almost to the end, which I never walked to before.

Thank you to my dear friend for taking this photo and sending it to me afterward. Seeing this photo helps me to remember. This is why I love photos, especially taking them. Photographs are like a visual diary. This one in particular is a reminder to me of so much - it is a reminder of my love of life, of my strength of spirit, of my healing process, and of my perseverance.

Make Your Own Parade

With the arrival of Spring, naturally my spirits are a bit lifted and heart is lightened. This is a big thing, considering all that last year brought and the remnants that are still present to be moved through as they come. I am remembering many things, particularly moments and experiences over the course of the last twelve years or so when my creativity was given an opportunity to shine and when I was able to rise to an occasion to present my most bright and colorful self to the world. A secondary but equal benefit was the hope that whatever it is I did or was involved in would somehow make a positive impact on the world around me. Would touch people’s hearts.

I didn’t organize the parade I led the day this photo was taken. My dear friend Ginger Balizer-Hendler wrote a book titled “The Adventures of Gingerella” that became a musical theatrical work, and also an installation in Riverhead, NY. Ginger’s book is absolutely heartwarming. With a hint of “The Little Prince”, she wrote characters in the form of animals, except for the main character Gingerella. The story is about Peace. When she asked me if I would like to contribute to her installation in Riverhead, I didn’t hesitate to say yes! I created a few floating beings which were incorporated into her installation (one image can be seen here on my website on my Mixed Media page) and Ginger also asked if I would lead a parade from the gallery to the local organic community garden, leaving the costume and presentation up to me. It was such a joy to be there and when I saw this photo that my dear friend Renata took, and saw that people had been following me… yes, indeed I was leading a parade!… it warmed my heart so much!

When I look at my home movies, I’m a ham, I ran around in circles, danced and pranced and posed for the camera, and had so much energy! It was always in me. In my dysfunctional family, I wasn’t seen so eventually I became invisible, or so I thought. That was then. How I made it from there to here is, really, a miracle!

When I was a child, I wanted to sing and thought I could but it was made clear that it was better and safer to stay quiet. I loved dancing but clearly that was out too. So I turned to visual art. It was quiet and I could do it any time, even in the comfort of my own room without anyone knowing. Same with writing. But art saved me, really saved me through so much of my life. It still is and ART will always be my first love. But honestly, I go in many directions, creatively-speaking.

In 2012, I learned I could sing when I joined a choir and have been singing on my own and even writing songs ever since. When I was drawn to butoh dance in 2010 and then began busking up in town, people’s reactions told me I could, and that I was making a difference. I had to reach out to discover myself. I had to put myself in new situations to see what would happen. I had to “make my own parade”. Then people saw me! I was invited to dance at events and was even paid for some. I was invited to do photo shoots, like the creative shoots I did with the talented Alex M. Wolff. Those were fun and really helped me embrace my love of costume and drama and the end result were photos I can look back on that tell stories. I had to put the ball in motion by putting myself out there and there was a chance I would be laughed at, or worse… not seen at all. But I was seen, and acknowledged, and invited to continue. So I did, whenever I could.

When I was in my 20’s a family member knew the well-known Civil War artist from my home town, Mort Kunstler and introduced me to him. Mr. Kunstler invited me to his beautiful home and he and his wife were so gracious and down to earth. He gave me advice as a young artist. He told me to show my art wherever and whenever I could because we never know who will notice us and what it will lead to. I remember that day vividly and have taken that advice as one of my life’s mottos.

And here I am… still dealing with chronic illness (walked with a cane in 2009, symptoms eased then cane again in 2012, symptoms eased, then cane again now) and the strokes of last year and still I am painting! I put myself out there in the ways that I can. And truthfully I go much slower than I’d like and need to rest much more often than I would choose to, but it is necessary. This is not just age. This is not age. This is chronic illness and as I write, I am acknowledging to the depths of my heart my immense bravery, fortitude, and strength of spirit. As I look over the photos of the performances I have done, often I did not know if I could get there until I was there. Occasionally I did not make it and had to let someone down, but it was met with compassion and I was much harder on myself than anyone else could have been because I really, really want to do so much. Life is absolutely beautiful. It can be ugly but we choose what to focus on. Good to stay aware and balanced and not all “head in the clouds” but it is so necessary to know when to turn it all off and go shine someplace.

Dance and movement are something I am working my way back to, and ART is ever-present and holds me up every day. The smell of a room that is used for oil painting is home for me. I am doing all that I can and still, if I had perfect health and lived a hundred years, there still wouldn’t be time enough to do all the wonderful things my heart pulls me toward. I try to stay in touch with it all because as I recover from the strokes and the depression and anxiety that have followed, it’s so important for me to remember the things I CAN do, to remember the things I have done, the things that light me up from the inside, the things that make me forget about the concept of time, and the things that make me feel more than okay. And… at any time, on any day, knowing that I have the power to reach for one of these things and make my own parade.

Art Comes Home

Rarely, if ever, have I had two solo exhibitions at the same time. This year, both “Delphic Spheres” at The Gallery @ and “Mystic Visions” at the Huntington Library on Main overlapped and it was such an interesting feeling to know that so much of my art was out in the world for everyone to see.

This week both shows come down and the art comes home. It is bittersweet and I remember having a sort of post-partum exhibition blues afterward, which I’m not expecting but am aware might happen. It’s not too heavy, just a knowing that it’s a much better feeling to have my art out in the world being seen than on my own walls in my home or in stacks if I run out of wall space.

The photo above was taken at the Closing Reception on March 19th when my dear friend and drummer Steve and I collaborated for an improvisational rhythm and light experience. I played my wooden flute, aside from my small hang drum and also sang. The best part for me was when we invited everyone to join in and Steve placed different percussion instruments out for everyone to play. I love when people get together and make something fun and beautiful and magical happen. For me, people make all the difference in the world. I do need a lot of time alone, especially these days, but isolation is no good and my truly happiest times are when I’m spending time with friends, or simply - others - whether we’ve just met or not, like when I used to busk up in town over ten years ago and people would respond in the most wonderful ways. We were a surprise to each other, a happy surprise.

My sincerest thanks go out to each and every person who touches my life in a positive way and reminds me of who I am, of what is important to me. My life has held so many struggles but people and my relationships with others have always been the treasure. Some best left buried, LOL…. but the ones who stick around and show you love… those are the keepers!

Fairies and Fairy Art

After learning that Long Island’s First Fairy Festival will be held this May at Sands Point Preserve, I entered a new painting titled “The Bird Fairy” into the Fairy Art Show that will be held during the festival. The painting above is titled “Firefly” and I painted it many years ago when I lived in a place that felt really magical to me. “Firefly” sold to a couple who saw it at my solo exhibition at IMAC concert hall in Huntington in 2001 and I hope they are still enjoying it! I always hope that the people who are moved enough by my art to purchase it and live with it continue to enjoy it once the work of art has passed into their hands.

Recent thoughts of Fairies are awakening my lifelong love of the Fairy and Elven realms and is guiding me back to a dim little light inside myself that I thought had gone out. Perhaps it has, just like in Peter Pan when people say they don’t believe in Fairies, one drops out of the air and withers away. Perhaps sometimes the most crucial thing to our wellbeing is that someone is able to truly see us and say, “I DO believe! I DO believe in you!”

It would be too lengthy a blog post to write about all the ways that Fairy has touched my life throughout the years, and how many times people from different areas of my life over the years have said they felt the Fairy magic in me. I am remembering it now. I had forgotten, with all the loss and sadness and grief and illness of recent years… I had forgotten. My light went out. But I am starting to feel a flickering inside.

I do so hope that my “Bird Fairy” gets into the Fairy Festival Art Show. Certainly I’ll post about it if it does. Or perhaps I’ll post about it even if it doesn’t. If the flicker grows stronger, perhaps there will be more Fairy-themed posts in the future. For now I’ll end this post with an excerpt from my book titled “Memoirs of a Little Ghost” which is available on Amazon.

“Do You Believe in Fairies?” - April 6, 2010

"I do, I do!" At least I think I do. I've always loved the idea of fairies... airy little whimsical beings who could fly about unseen by human eyes and do mischievous or magical things. At least I imagine pretty colors, transparent wings, pointed ears, something sparkly like fairy dust and an ethereal presence that can be detected if we only believe. 

One summer evening when I was living at a farm-like place, I walked from my car, over the lawn and toward my apartment. My boyfriend at the time was with me and I wondered out loud if we would see any fireflies that night, since we hadn't seen any yet so far that season. Watching fireflies is one of my favorite things each summer, and the first firefly is always the most exciting, like the first snowfall in winter, or the first robin in spring. 

That night, it was a beautifully calm and peaceful evening with almost no wind, and the temperature was perfect... not too cold, not too warm. We looked around and started seeing some fireflies. They're easy to spot with their warm pale greenish glow and the upward movement as the evening wears on. I was the one who was far more interested and kept watching as if I were a child seeing them for the first time. 

It didn't take long for me to spot something across the lawn and past the rose garden, and it was not a firefly. It was bigger, brighter, faster and a different color. Another insect perhaps? Perhaps.

As we were about to enter the apartment, I looked at it and wondered what it was and pointed it out to my boyfriend, who was the "have to see it to believe it" kind of person. He knew a lot about a lot of things, but he had no idea what this could have been. He unlocked the door and for the split second that I took my eye off of the thing, it had zipped over the rose garden across the lawn and was not far from where we stood. That was an unbelievably short amount of time for anything to have flown that fast! It was eerie and I'm sure we both got chills (at least I did). I asked my boyfriend if he saw it too, and he did. Suddenly Mr. "See It to Believe It" didn't have an answer... only the same perplexed look on his face that I had. He then said maybe it's a fairy. He said that? Yes he did! I'm sure he said it for my amusement, but I grinned with glee at the real possibility that yes, indeed, it was a fairy. 

From then on I started believing more than I ever had before, and my belief was strengthened every time I walked outside onto the lawn in the morning to find a ring of mushrooms that weren't there the day before.”

Mystic Visions Art Exhibition

“The Queen’s Fire” almost didn’t make it into the show, but at the last minute it was clear that it had to be there. So many of my paintings fit the theme of this exhibition, more than were included, but this one is really at the top of the list. She is peaceful. She is powerful. She is a queen.

I’m so thankful to all the friends who attended my Opening Reception last Sunday, March 12th, especially since they had to brave the crowds and blocked off roads for the St. Patrick’s Day Parade to get there. It was so lovely to see everyone. I wasn’t sure I’d be up to talking much but managed to do a talk in the beginning for friends who had to leave early (this first talk is on my YouTube channel) and another shorter talk toward the end when I felt my energy was beginning to fade.

Sometimes I wonder why I push myself so hard. There is never a day when I feel well and as I am still recovering from the strokes, it can be challenging to even get up each morning. But for some reason I always have a ton of ideas in my head… some which are bigger than my present abilities to carry them out, and others which are more manageable. And my cat Gracie and the feral kitties I’m feeding outdoors to keep them going over the winter. My feline family. They all keep me going. And my art. If I have an art opening, friends show up and it’s wonderful to see them and to have that support. Otherwise I spend a lot of time on my own, which I don’t mind and really kind of need as I recover and am sensitive to sounds and motion and the world out there which goes so much faster than I do. But occasionally it feels isolating. There is a balance I haven’t been able to achieve yet.

I love this show. Mystic Visions… the title of it just came to me and that helped me choose the works for the show. It will be up until the 28th of this month.

My other solo show, still up at The Gallery @ on Gibson Avenue in Huntington, will be up until the 26th and there will be a Closing Reception this Sunday, March 19th from 2-5pm during which I’ll be presenting a fun cosmic sound and light experience with a dear and talented friend. It should be fun. I can say I hope I’m up to it but in reality, I never am, but as long as I can get there, usually the day, the event, seeing friends and smiles and camaraderie lifts me up and propels me forward. Onward is the only way to go, as long as I have a beating heart and breath in my body, on I go.

Downtime and Zigzagging

Been having to take a lot of downtime lately in between art and art show things. Sometimes playing my flute for a bit, or resting in quiet with my cat Gracie nearby or by my side, which she is starting to do. Or lying down listening to music as I'm doing in this photo.

The strokes really changed my brain. Speaking is one of the most strenuous things for me, and listening. And oddly enough, even though I've forgotten a lot of my Spanish, I have an easier time speaking it with local Spanish speakers than I do English. Foreign language feels like music, perhaps connects that way in my head. Often even over the phone I have to ask people to please slow their speaking or to repeat what they say. Must say I feel a bit stupid but I know that I am not. It just feels that way.

Overall I've found a lot of kindness and compassion through this time. Except from one lady at a bank who continued to berate me for taking a parking space she wanted, one space away from the one she got. She saw me with my cane. I told her it was easier for me to be closer to the entrance. Absolutely no compassion in her eyes, only coldness. In front of everyone, calmly I looked at her and repeated, "Thank you for your compassion," hoping to get through. Sometimes it doesn't happen. Maybe it happened later, where her heart opened just a little. Who knows. It had nothing to do with me. So I go on, being whatever I am right now. Speaking up when it feels best to. Mostly, so many people are immensely kind and will give me time to walk, to talk.

This Sunday at my opening, no idea what I was thinking but I wanted to talk about my art, so that's what I'm planning to do - a short talk. I'll do it anyway and if I find it too challenging, I'll sing or write and let it evolve into something else, perhaps let others talk and let it be interactive.

Zigzagging is great, it's something my dear friend Con taught me. It is helping me a lot right now. When things feel too much, it's important to let ourselves zigzag. See all the options, pinpoint the priority, move toward it, and let the rest go.

Art Breakthrough

After my strokes last year, I painted many Circle Paintings and I wrote about them in previous posts in this blog. Toward the end of 2022, I felt something more needed to be expressed. Not to diminish the significance of the circles. Actually, I think they are a super important period of my work and who knows if I may turn back to them when they are needed. But I was beginning to feel stuck creatively. Subtle visions drifted through my damaged brain and would float away as quickly as they came, so by the time I had a piece of paper or blank canvas in front of me, nothing came. There may as well have been a brick wall in front of my face. It was excruciating.

When I look back on my life, at times when my art really saved me, I can look to the 80s and 90s when I was so prolific. Those years were challenging because of health issues (heart, lungs, etc.) and most of all losing so many people close to me. In the 90s, every six months someone I cared about passed away. So much was processed through my art and when I felt uneasy, I’d go to the canvas and out came an image, a story that told me something I didn’t know but only felt gnawing at my gut until my hands and eyes and paintbrush brought it out into material form.

With everything that transpired in 2022, I needed my art again and I suppose once the Circle Paintings no longer felt like enough, perhaps it was a sign that my brain was healing. But it was so uncomfortable, not to be able to express. The aphasia with my ability to speak and understand others, including reading and writing, was also extended to doing art. What a kick in the pants.

Something I’ve known about myself for a while is that whenever I get uncomfortable with something in my life, maybe at first I crumble, but then I rise like a tiger and go on a voracious hunt for the answer. I remembered how I was a candidate for a Master’s Degree in Art Therapy years ago before I had to stop working and always hoped I’d be able to go back to school some day. My dream was to get the PhD. That is no longer possible for me, so I have to let that dream go, along with other dreams. But I remembered taking classes at night after work and how powerful different mediums are and how art helps us heal. I remembered and reached out. A couple of months ago, I began working with an Art Therapist and it was the best, healthiest thing I could have done.

Since I began working with the Art Therapist, I have had a breakthrough and am painting again. The Circle Paintings were necessary as I could do nothing else after the strokes. Then as 2022 wrapped up, there was something more that wanted to emerge but the connection between inner and outer wasn't there. Then after many sessions with the Art Therapist, the creative flood gates opened and it is so cathartic!

Even though I have continued physical weakness, pain, numbness, aphasia, short term memory loss, balance issues, and eye issues, the ART is helping me speak and express myself. I am healing from so much - the strokes, losses, and other life challenges. Facing these things head on and addressing the myriad of emotions associated with them is what I embrace with all my heart. ART is a huge healer. Music is too. But the ART is helping in such a big way.

There are many creative pursuits for me now, not only creating art but showing it and I look for opportunities to show my art to feel hopeful, to keep myself looking forward, to keep my hands and my mind active, and to help with healing.

Above is “Impact”, my first painting this year. It can mean so many things. If anyone asks me, I’d be okay sharing what it means to me.

Delphic Spheres - The Opening

I am so happy to have a solo exhibition at The Gallery @ in Huntington, NY. The show will run through March 25th. The Opening Reception was held on Sunday, January 22nd - a year and a day after my first stroke last year. It was delightful to see so many friends come to support my art. It was touching beyond words… the words many said to me. The hugs. The kindness. The support of me and my journey, including who and what I am now.

Some of my friends I hadn’t seen since before covid and some, longer than that. They had followed me on social media where I often share bits of my life and story, especially since the three strokes I had last year. I am definitely changed since then, perhaps forever. With so many pre-existing health issues, it’s more realistic to accept the way I feel while doing what I can to heal and doing my best with each new day. Honestly, I don’t feel much better than I did right after the strokes, so acceptance of where I am right now helps me. Kind of like what my Circle Paintings are all about - acceptance.

When I got to the show - I had a LOT of help, even delivering the work, which I would not have been able to do on my own - I was joyfully surprised at how owners Brittany and Brigitte curated the art. Which paintings they placed next to which other paintings, how the show was hung. WOW.

THIS was the real stunner for me - my triptych from 1996 with the two recent Circle Paintings behind it. Not only was it visually balanced and harmonious (the blues and golds really tie it all together, plus the shapes), but the way the three pieces were placed created a feeling greater than the sum of its parts. It felt sacred to me. This one grouping alone really struck me deeply. And all the other works and how they complemented each other. Brittany and Brigitte really saw my art, looked at each work, and truly honored it by the way they chose to hang the show. I was and still am so immensely grateful. And so grateful to every person who took the time to spend the afternoon with me that day celebrating art and life.

A Healing Heart

This photo is of me painting "Heart Birds" in early 2020. It is a painting about healing the heart and will be included in my show at The Gallery @ opening on January 22nd in Huntington, NY. The day of the opening marks one year and a day after my first stroke last year, so the reception will be a celebration of life. Hard to see all the colors and metallic gold of the background, but the photo shows its size.

I needed to paint this. With so much loss in my my life (and much more since), I had to paint a healing heart, one protected by the heart birds as I call them, a sign of something Divine, protecting my heart. The heart has been a subject in my art since the mid 1990’s when I was diagnosed with a rare heart issue. One in a thousand people in the world have it, I was told. Then in the last ten years I was diagnosed with another heart issue. Arrhythmias are just a part of my life but I never get quite used to them. Back in the 90’s, I painted so many…. “In My Heart”, “Broken Heart”, “Heart Mountain”, “Garden Heart” (which I gifted to my cardiologist at St. Francis Hospital), “Umbrella”, and I even created a large wooden sculpture that I painted in oils titled “Melting Heart”. One lady who saw it dubbed it “anatomy on a stick”, which was kind of funny and okay with me, since that’s what it looked like.

At least I’m painting a healing heart now, although I don’t think the heart is immune to pain, no matter how hard we try to protect it. Things will happen in the world that will hurt us that we can’t control. People will be cruel and unkind and we can’t control that, we can only control how we respond to it. The best we can do is go easy with ourselves, especially when we do the best we can with every day. We can do our best to stay away from situations and people who aren’t healthy for us, those who bully us, make us feel bad, hurt our hearts. The world may not be kind but we can choose to treat ourselves kindly, especially if we are conscious of how we are in the world. If we’re good people. If we treat others with kindness, compassion, and respect. If we are a presence of goodness in the world, even if it is the little bit of world around us. Go easy on ourselves and our hearts, especially if they’ve been through enough. I know mine has.

Exhibiting My Edge in the New Year

This has been a year, a time of reflection for me... in my life and in my art. It has been almost comforting to me to look back in time, through years, decades of work I have produced and look at the different styles that evolved and reflected my experiences at the time I created them.

The triptych above is titled “The Still and The Lifeless”, created in 1994. I designed the shapes, cut the wood with a power jigsaw, painted the panels in oil paint, then put them all together with carefully selected copper hinges to match the tones of the art. In college I was an Art History major which didn’t really get me anywhere with just a Bachelor’s degree (that’s another story for another time), but my art was strongly influenced by centuries of art I learned about in college and pored through in books I had since I was eleven. The work of the Northern Renaissance artists intrigued me. I love triptychs.

This period in the 1990’s was a rough one for me. Every six months someone close to me passed away. That, along with facing my own health issues made it a decade when turning to my art to express darkness was really crucial. An “edge” emerged in my art I hadn’t quite seen before and I heartily embraced it as it was my boat through turbulent waters.

I remember seeing a call for art for a juried still life exhibition at the Islip Art Museum. I was already creating sculptural works in wood and oil paint and had the idea for this triptych. My art is hard to define and I never know what to say when people ask me what kind of art I do. One thing I definitely don’t do is fit in to more conventional “safe” work that many enjoy seeing and that many enjoy creating and that many prefer to include in exhibitions, especially here in suburbia. When I see an open call for art with a theme that speaks to me, I often get inspired to do something completely new and enter it to see if it gets in. That is what I did with this. I wanted to enter the juried still life show, but I wanted to do it on my terms, in my style, with my own voice. So here it is… “The Still and The Lifeless”. There is the obligatory table with a vase of flowers on it and on the front of the two panels (when the doors are closed), I painted an apple on one side and a pear on the other, since typical still life paintings often depict pieces of fruit. But what about the bodies in the drapery and that axe lodged up there? Yeah, I know.

“The Still and The Lifeless” was selected for the show at the Islip Art Museum in 1994 and it was featured prominently in the hallway of the museum. It even received a nice mention in a newspaper review of the show. That’s always a thrill for an artist, to have their work mentioned. God, we’re such whores sometimes, grappling at the smallest crumbs. I didn’t choose to be an artist. It just happened.

Most of the paintings I did during that decade had an edge because I was in deep pain and I needed to express it. I’m not Mapplethorpe, but for Long Island I may as well be for the issues I’ve had showing this phase of my work that addresses grief, loss, death, and illness. When I had an issue in Manhasset in 1992 (just Google Bellospirito vs. Manhasset if you don’t already know about it), my mother was dying of cancer. I remember when I visited her in the hospital one day after work, I mentioned to her what was happening and that I had people helping me sort it out, but she didn’t live long enough to see what happened. Honestly, I thought I’d be able to reason with the library and that a court case could be avoided. That was my hope, anyway. Two-and-a-half-years later, I won a case in Federal Court that set a precedent in the Eastern District of New York and is now being cited around the country in similar cases and is also being taught in law schools. But at the time, it was so hard. People liked seeing me in person after they had seen me on television and in the papers, but when it came time for artists to stand up for their own work and cite my case so that they could have the same freedom of speech in their art as well, most stayed quiet (they told me so). Whores, as I said. Artists do anything for a show, even keeping their mouths shut at the expense of freedom of expression.

It’s now almost thirty years later and I have a solo exhibition coming up in late January 2023 and I’m going to include “The Still and The Lifeless” in the show. It’s been wrapped up in storage for too long and the young, vibrant, creative artists and tattoo artists who own The Gallery @ in Huntington, NY are willing to have me bring my edges out to display. They are familiar with this territory, tattoos having their own history of being taboo, and their goal is to bring fine art into the tattoo studio / art studio to merge the mediums. That’s cool and I’m thrilled to have the opportunity to show my art there. The Opening Reception is slated for Sunday, January 22nd at 3pm and the inner, younger me still very much alive and well in me will be more than happy to attend (along with the older me) so that my edge can come out of the closet and be seen and celebrated. Finally.

Resilience

Here I am at 19 in Florida when I took a road trip with my best friend. I remember that beach filled with the most beautiful sea shells and how peaceful the day was and how perfect the weather. We went to visit my grandparents and had a lot of adventures on the way there and back to New York. It was a trip, in many ways. The best, BEST part was when we pulled into my grandparent’s driveway and saw them through the window as they got up from their chairs and rushed to the door to greet us. Then when we hugged! The love of family. I really miss them.

As many wonderful adventures I had when I was young, and with how many things I wish I'd done differently in my life, I honestly wouldn't go back in time for anything, unless on the inside I could be the me I am now after having so many lessons, learning about myself and my value, learning about my gifts, learning healthy self-love and self-respect, and learning about boundaries. Anyone who winces at these words hasn’t addressed this in themselves yet. It’s not about being arrogant or full of oneself, but knowing who you are, good and bad. Accepting all of it, being able to celebrate yourself as well as own up to the tough stuff inside and address it - that last thing is the most important part. To address it. A lot of it can come from trauma early in life and yet as we grow into adulthood, it’s still our job to make it right.

At 19, there are glimmers of who we are, but we can't fully see or understand until we get that life experience. I wish I had been able to see myself more clearly and I did probably know myself better at that age than most, but that age has its many blind spots. I had big dreams, learned languages, painted every day, got my college degree despite frequent hospital stays for asthma attacks and chronic bronchitis (while often working two jobs), I worked hard at my full-time jobs after college and loved it, and dreamed of traveling the world. My plan was to get my PhD and travel, write, teach, and curate. But plans often go awry. I wasn’t paying attention to my inner self, which was screaming for my attention. Health issues began at 15 with my first lung collapse, but that didn't stop me. There's a time to push. When you're young, you can push through almost anything and think you can conquer the world. I'm still a badass in so many ways, but I've had to temper it and pay attention to my mind and body.

Little by little, health issues came and I had to stop working a regular job before I was thirty. Several issues with my heart emerged over the years, and an unnecessary pacemaker was installed in my late 20’s that I never needed and still have, before I found a competent cardiologist who understood and correctly diagnosed the issues with my rare and uniquely shaped heart. For several years I experienced agoraphobia (which I have pretty much recovered from), then Epstein-Barre, tick-borne illness, then partial vision loss, and other things. This year, strokes.

I've had to pay attention to myself in deep ways and care for myself in a way I wasn’t taught to. With all the challenges, I've accomplished so much and many people think I'm fine physically when they see me, especially if I’m dancing. This year after the strokes, my physical challenges are more apparent, but I get up each day and do my best. Some days my best is very little and it can be difficult not to fall into self-judgment. Kindness and compassion, and knowing when to push and when not to is key now. And I still have big dreams, but they're a bit more manageable than the dreams I had at 19, well… most. Some are still big as it gives me a golden star to shoot for. Everyone needs that star and really I believe it can only come from within. And everyone needs love and compassion, and sometimes the only one you have to provide it for you is you. I’m blessed with friendships, old and new, that keep me feeling connected and held, but ultimately it is up to me how I choose to greet the world and be in the world, which is true for all of us. All these years later, years after this photo was taken at 19, I fully accept that there is still so much to learn and that I am a work in progress and I am okay with that. I also kinda wish I could step into that old photo and give a huge hug to the younger me and tell her not to push herself so hard and let her know it’s okay to let go of the reins a bit and enjoy her beautiful life. Let her know she’s more okay than she thought she was.

Life, Loss, and Little Me Under the Eternal Blue Sky

With all that this year has brought me, another big change is now presented to me since my last post. My living situation is changing and even though my dear friend and roommate of 13 years and I are parting ways in our living situation (I will miss the Will to my Grace, the Lucy to my Ethel and we’ll forever be friends), it is something I must embrace. It’s uncomfortable. It’s triggering loss and abandonment in me, and anxiety. Fears come like big waves at times and moments spark memories of the other losses over the course of this past year. Ouch, ouch, and… ouch.

Then again, there is hope. I have done this before, many times, in different guises. Somehow I am always okay.

And then again, perhaps this coming time of more space and more privacy and more quiet will be exactly what I need to move into the next phase of my art, deepen my spiritual work, and heal and create in ways I cannot yet imagine.

But when the sparks of fear come, I have to reach. I turn to music or art or nature. Any of these will lift me into a state of being and smallness and knowing that there is something so much greater than me carrying me through this lifetime. I do not believe in coincidences, however I do believe in free will. When the sparks come, I choose. Check in with my body first to see what I am physically up to because sometimes brain can’t think of details, or process and sometimes it needs rest. Sometimes blankness is best which is why music and art are easier than speech now. Most of the time. When the sparks come, I reach. Art museums, favorite nature walks, drawing, painting, guitar, singing in my own language, recording tracks on the cool Roland Quad Capture Douglas gifted me and was teaching me to use. I really miss his being in the world, so much more than I can say.

I am so small and this feeling under the big blue sky is the most helpful. That I am small. If I am small in the midst of this great big universe, then perhaps so are my challenges, at least for a while. Everything is temporary. Knowing that takes the sting away for just a bit. Then I reach again.