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.

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.

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

Collage and Pieces of Me

Our local library started a Creative Group and in our first session we were introduced to collage. Although I’ve been doing art most of my life, collage is something I’ve had great curiosity about but never quite delved into. This was fun and this one which I’ve titled “Swimmers” is a bit of a conundrum for me, as I don’t really understand it. Then again, that’s true for a lot of my art. Sometimes I know instantly as they emerge on the canvas what they mean to me, and other times it takes years before the meaning is clear.

The title “Swimmers” felt right because of the fish, but also because I was listening to a song titled “Swimmers” by Zero 7 over and over as I created this work. Music has a huge impact on my art and I usually can’t create without it. It’s common practice for me to hear a song that deeply speaks to the way I feel, even if I don’t know how to describe the way I feel in words, and then I play the song on repeat as I paint or create a work of art in another medium. This is something I’ve been doing all my adult life.

The first part of this collage that came together is the body with the white dress, the orange flower, and the face which sits above the neck so there’s a space between the head and neck. This kind of makes sense to me with how I’ve felt since the strokes. My head isn’t the same. I added the white circle above which is a drawing by Galileo of the solar system. Made sense to me again, as I often feel very spacey and a bit disconnected.

I’ll continue working with collage as I think they’re powerful, as powerful as any other creative medium in showing me something that needed to be expressed but that I wasn’t sure was there.

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.

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.

The Anniversary of My Passing

A poem by Robyn Bellospirito 1/19/23

A salt lamp’s amber glow lights up my darkened room

before the dawn, before the sun has risen

and I lie in bed thinking of that day almost a year ago

when I was struck a blow that left half my body paralyzed.

It happened quickly, I was alone, and my roommate was away

but I managed to make a call to her while my body was beginning to fray.

I knew she’d understand my slurred speech and where I was

and would be able to send help my way.

They carried me out the door, out into the cold, into nineteen frigid degrees

so my roommate kindly placed her warm woolen red plaid scarf over me.

They drove so fast, I knew the way, sirens blaring, they got me there that day

to the help I needed, to where I had to be,

to where I’d be restored, to where they saved me.

I had a choice, the doctor said, of the drug that they could use.

Nothing appeared on the scan just yet, but likely it was ischemic

and if they were correct, the powerful drug had a chance

of restoring my abilities, so I said yes, without a doubt in my mind

even though there was a chance I could bleed out and die,

a deeper faith than I already had said to trust,

so I did, and within hours I could smile, move a finger, a foot

and as movement slowly returned, tears streamed down my face.

I had fallen, was helped back up, and in a state of gratitude and giddy grace.

That night in the ICU, my room had a painting on the ceiling

done by artists from Splashes of Hope who had painted the tile for a reason.

The colorful sunset on the beach hand-painted in the most beautiful way

brought me great comfort and a sense of the promise of a brand new day.

The next morning, I sat quietly in my sky blue room with the sunlight streaming

onto my hand, which was now gracefully ‘hand dancing’ in the air.

A miracle had been given to me, after having been struck down the day before.

I have been restored, a birth of sorts, taken for a walk down the corridor.

For six days, everyone I met along my journeys from room to room,

who wheeled me from my bed to tests and back to my bed again,

through doorways and hallways on many floors, elevators up and down,

were from everywhere, all over the world, and even from my home town.

Helpers with clip boards and kindness, expertise and many chores,

keeping cool through the chaos, they managed to hold the balance

as they handled me with care and delivered me to safer shores.

Now one year later, gratitude still fills my heart.

I’m brought to tears when I think of what could have been,

I was a lucky one, and Blessed I say. I was carried that day.

Though I am restored, I’m not without my losses –

a stroke a perfect word for what it was – I was hit hard, and

though I can move, still not quite back into my groove.

Walking with a cane, balance off and talking with apprehension,

aphasia stops words in their tracks, delays comprehension.

At least I am moving forward with each day of precious life

and I am so grateful to the helpers, Blessed are the helpers,

the deliverers, the care giverers, the drivers and readers of tests,

Medical pros who are in service by the profession they chose.

Awe struck at their strength and willingness to run, to save, to heal.

That day was the day I passed from one life to the next,

to the one I am in now, not quite knowing who I am now, yet.

With gratitude at the forefront of my heart, always –

for this and for every moment of every single day.

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.

It's Okay to Be Sad, It's Okay to be Scared

A young, vibrantly creative woman of 28 sat in her hospital bed as a doctor who she later found out had no idea what he was doing was about to give her an unnecessary pacemaker and perform numerous unnecessary EPS procedures on her heart while she was fully awake. Her mother died less than a year earlier and her father, once caring but now aloof with grief, had just married one of her childhood friends. After the unnecessary pacemaker was installed, her left lung collapsed. Her grandmother who lived in another state, who she was very close to, was about to have open heart surgery and they spoke over the phone from their hospital beds. Her fiance, who didn’t drive, came to visit her every day by train. At least she had that connection. She had to stop working. She was also in the middle of a lawsuit where a public library banned several of her paintings the year before and when she challenged them, they canceled her show. Two years later she won the case in Federal Court and it set a precedent in the Eastern District of New York. But here she was, almost helpless not knowing what to do and so very sad for the losses in her life, and scared for her grandmother, and in need of support, and feeling so very alone. The sketchbook this drawing is in and these pastel drawings were her way to cope. That woman was me, in 1993. I am so strong and really see how strong I am when I think about all the things like this that I’ve been through and all the times when I’ve had to dig the deepest to find my inner core of strength, and I think f*uck yeah, I AM STRONG. But now…. so many years later, after strokes and other things….. some days I feel I just can’t do it anymore. I just cannot take one more thing. I love life so I will keep rising with every new day, every sunrise. But I just don’t know how some days to make my way.

Old Life, New Life... This is Life

Today is nine months to the day after I had the first stroke. I remember it each month. That day my life changed and I’m still not sure of who I am becoming. When I paint, do I paint simply because it is what I have done for fifty years or because I truly want to? There is an internal guidance system that leads me along each day. Part of that is the way I feel physically and part of it is, what will help, bring me joy, bring me peace in my heart and mind? No obligations although of course those exist, we all have them in having to eat, sleep, pay our bills, and get by in this human existence. But I let that internal guidance lead me along in the times in between.

The hoop is something I am practicing again now that I’m over covid, even though I still get tired each day and can only do so much….. many reasons I have this fatigue which I’ve dealt with for years. But I keep getting up. No matter what, I get up and do the best I can with each day. Even on the tough ones when it doesn’t feel like I have a purpose at all anymore…… I feel into my body and that internal guidance and let it lead. And of course, I have to say yes.

Dancing with the Circle for Joy & Healing

The Circle is really big for me these days. After surviving strokes earlier this year, I am choosing hoop flow dance as one way to get myself moving, regain strength, heal my brain, and get back in shape. I can only do it for a short time before I get really tired and dizzy, but it's fun which inspires me to do it. Right now I haven't got the actual hula hooping down yet, but I will as I work on it while doing a lot of off-body hooping. At 58, I am an aspiring hoop flow dancer! This video was taken on my recent birthday when friends watched me practice a bit (thanks to Con for the video). I'm SO grateful for the people in my life! I'm so grateful for my life! It's been a really tough year with two strokes in January and a mini-stroke in April. The first stroke in January caused the entire right side of my body to become paralyzed and EMT's had to carry me out of my home. Thankfully I got to the hospital quickly and was able to receive the drug tPa which restored my movement, although my body has a lot of neurological effects that I am working on healing. I have certain forms of aphasia that come and go and it’s very frustrating. Recovery is a long process. I still walk with a cane in public and have balance issues, and some days I can't drive, but I am seeing progress in very small increments as I embrace movement again. Then a few weeks ago I lost my former partner/fiance in a tragic car accident (ironically he never drove). We parted as a couple in 2006 but remained friends. The shock and grief over losing him plus grief over losing my former abilities before the strokes was really heavy and I was getting depressed, which is not something I usually experience. When we get down, it's important to think of what will lift us back up. My people (they know who they are) are #1, the treasures in my life. My art has helped me when I began painting circles. Now the hoop has been saving me and music has too. I'm just a beginner but we all have to start somewhere and I figured, let me give it a try. I love dance and dancing with the hoop brings me SO much joy! This is a way for me to get back to doing what I love while healing my body, mind, and spirit. I am healing.

A Creative Channel for Multimedia Me?

I wanted to post this photo because I love performing, I miss performing, and I loved performing that day at Inisfada in Manhasset, NY for Opera Night, the final event that took place in that glorious mansion before it was heartlessly demolished shortly after. The interior was exquisite with hand-carved wood throughout and everything was just… beyond beautiful. I won’t go on about it because it’s incredibly sad and the details can easily be found online, but it was an honor to get a final glimpse of it that day. I loved this outdoor labyrinth. The estate should have been protected as part of our history, but it’s all gone.

That being said, I miss performing. I’ve had health issues for a long time. My balance has been bad since an acupuncture treatment in 2004 (the acupuncturist didn’t understand what they did or how to undo it). For a time in 2009, I walked with a cane, but somehow I regained strength and by 2010 was busking up in town. It seems to go in cycles, albeit unpredictable ones. For a few months in the summer of 2012, I walked with a cane and could not paint. I prayed to find the creative thing I could do, in my current state at the time. I had been doing self-portrait videos at the time (all on my YouTube channel) and one summer day went with my cane to the beach, set up my little Canon camera on a cheap tripod, put my cane down, walked unsteadily toward the water with the sunset behind me, set the camera to burst ten shots at a time, did different poses, and continued until it was dark. Oooh... how that fed my soul!!! It has nothing to do with me wanting to see myself. It has everything to do with needing to express myself. I made a video of the photos and faded them into each other so it looked like a dance, which I was really missing doing. It’s on my YouTube channel.

Another answer to my prayer came in the form of song. I had no idea I could sing, but I loved singing to myself all the time and to songs on the radio. One Thursday evening in September of 2012, I went to the local UU Fellowship at the request of a friend who was planning an event there and asked me to be a part of it. While I was waiting, I remembered reading on the website that there was a choir and that choir rehearsals were on Thursday evenings. I always dreamed of trying but never thought I could sing. As I waited, I didn’t see anyone except for a secretary who passed me quickly and said hello. I asked if there was choir rehearsal that night and she dashed off saying she’d go get the Choir Director (as I waved my hand saying no!!!) It was funny how it happened. The Choir Director appeared and invited me to go sing. The choir hadn’t arrived yet. He handed me some sheet music and asked, “Can you sing?” “I said, ”I don’t know.” I didn’t read music, either, which I told him. So he played the melody and as I have a good musical memory, I sang it. Soprano. I sat in choir rehearsal that night and sang with the choir the following Sunday. What a joy! It’s amazing how prayers are answered.

Eventually I was able to dance again and not use my cane most of the time. I became active at the UU, not only in the choir but helping out with Sunday Services. I did several performances there during services and one during my art show in the gallery space. One morning as we were setting up for a service, one of my choir friends asked me how I could dance if I had balance issues and sometimes needed a cane to walk. I answered and was happy that he asked. My answer was: “If you really look at me while I’m dancing, I mostly use the upper part of my body - my arms, my hands… (people always remark about how expressive my hands are)… and I balance myself by keeping my feet firmly on the ground and apart.” Also, I wear long dresses or skirts so that the top part of me is highlighted. He understood. I shared my secret. I also heartily endorse the saying (not sure of its origin) that when we stumble, it’s best to work it into the dance. I’ve done that more times than I can count and no-one has ever said they noticed.

In one performance I did at the UU for a service, a performance I titled “The Artist” which I performed a few more times at other locations, I wore a white face mask and a kimono, I had a cd of a beautifully sublime piece of classical music, and had a painting on an easel. It was multimedia…. art, music, dance… AND this performance was also interactive. I was basically going to audience members and miming gestures which they understood, for them to add something to a magical soup I was preparing. It was wonderful!!!! I LOVE people, I LOVE touching people’s hearts! I love making people smile, bringing lightness and levity and a touch of magic to all who are open to it. I miss it terribly!

In recent years, before the pandemic, I hoped to get back to performance, but life got in the way. The ticks in September of 2016 felt like they almost killed me. I was covered with them after visiting a campsite with a friend for the afternoon. Within a 72-hour period, despite showers, so many had clung to me. I had at least 50 bites all over and pulled off 15-20 fully engorged deer ticks. I became seriously ill very quickly. The only one who was checking on me was a friend who was a nurse. I was put on a 21-day dose of doxy and felt better afterward. All symptoms were pretty much gone… until two months later when many returned. I haven’t been the same since. It’s always been something, like the partial loss of vison in my left eye in January 2018 that required vitrectomy surgery. Always something, like a breakup, or the loss of my two beloved cats within a year of each other. I love them all, but losing my Tasha girl still stings like hell.

Despite my health, I always need to be creative. It’s in my blood and bones. Painting has saved my life many times, and dance has been my medicine. So this blog post which is turning out to be much longer than I planned, is really about me asking, since the three strokes I’ve had this year, as I asked in 2012…. what now?

I’ve been doing a lot of life review during this healing time. I think about all that I’ve done, how I don’t feel like I’ve even begun really doing all that I’d like to do in my life yet, even with all my accomplishments despite dealing with many forms of chronic illness over the years, and I think about how I want to move forward.

The thing I realized about myself is that yes, I am an artist, but I also love making music. I love singing and sing every day, even as part of my spiritual practice. I love writing and planned to write a book this year about my creative works (which I may still be able to do in little bits before the year is done). I love dancing and performing, especially for people, to touch their hearts…… this is the key. I LOVE using all the mediums and bringing them together to make a difference. And I know these are my gifts, but I always think I am just borrowing them from Spirit. I was made this way…. to share what I have been given.

So now… since the strokes, with all the need to rest, and with my slow body with poor balance and right side weakness… how, HOW can I share my gifts NOW?

This is what I am asking myself, as creative ideas pour through me like a crystalline waterfall wanting to splash upon all that surrounds. This is what I am praying for, because the ideas, the desire to create and reach out with what I do, the intense yearning to connect to others through my art is so strong in me. Sometimes I cannot rest. I believe when we don’t share all the bigness within, that it can make us sick. I keep trying to share…. and I’ve been successful at times, but then some new thing knocks me down, like the strokes. And I get back up, every single time. And I want to get up now, though I rest a lot. My brain has been through trauma and needs to heal. But my spirit is strong and wants to do, create, share. So how… how……….. HOW?

Starting the Year with a Jolt

As many people do, I had big plans for 2022. There were things I was going to build on that I had already started. There were things I was going to resurrect in a new way. There were things. Then on the morning of January 21st, I had a stroke. The right side of my body was becoming paralyzed, quickly. I kind of knew what was happening and reached for the phone, but it was becoming increasingly difficult to speak and move as I tried to reach out for help. Thankfully, I got through and help came.

Long story short, I made it to the hospital quickly enough to be administered the drug TPA which, in ischemic strokes, can reverse the effects. That’s exactly what happened while I was still in the Emergency Room and I remember the absolute joy at being able to move my hand again, smile, speak, move my leg. But, recovery takes a very long time. I walk very, very slowly and with a cane. My right hand is still a bit weak (one of the reasons I push myself to draw and paint as often as I can, to use my muscle memory to rebuild circuitry in my brain). Dealing with details is still challenging. In April I had another incident, this time a TIA, and it put me a few steps backwards. But I am recovering.

In February, not long after I got out of the hospital, I went to a friend’s art group on Zoom, not knowing what I would do, if anything, but just wanting to reach out and see what might happen. I drew a circle. I remembered the mandalas I was drawing in recent years that brought me so much peace. This time it was a mandala, but only looked like a circle. Even though the center appears to be empty, it is complete.

I began painting circles after that and you can see the ones I have created so far in Gallery 1 here on my website. In the video I made about them, I am speaking a bit better now than I was in the video, though there are days when the fatigue hits me so badly that my speech slurs. It will be a while before I recover fully, if I do. Here is a link to the video: https://youtu.be/a4ddKTg5InI

The circle continues to be my main subject matter. It is so many things. But, most of all, it is healing. It is a way to find peace in the present moment.