Bone Sister

This is the time of year when it feels like a good time to share my painting "Bone Sister". Years ago there was a website called Virtual Beret which accepted submissions from artists and asked them to describe a work of art in terms of a "beret" worn by the subject of their art. For me, I sent them "Bone Sister" and wrote about her. At a time when I was denying my spirituality, it still made its way to my consciousness through my art. Here is what I wrote about "Bone Sister":

This is Bone Sister.

Bone Sister is a very tall, thin, slender creature who has the appearance of being very frail though in fact she is very strong, as she has endured since the beginning of humanity. Her skin is pale and lucid, and has a subtle sheen like the glow of the moon on a clear winter night. Her eyes are of shimmery gold, and stare into your soul with the force of a thousand lasers. They direct their steady gaze deep into your subconscious and suck away all your pain with the strength of their glare.

She shares this pain with you, and helps you to understand and accept that which we can never escape - Death. Bone Sister is the Guide through the Underworld, and helps those on an earthly plane who have lost the ones they loved.

Bone Sister has mastered the art of creating shadows, illusions, dreams, memories and visions for those she helps, and she accomplishes these things in a couple of ways. One of the ways in which she does this is by spinning images from a glistening web-like substance emitted from her long spider-like fingertips. She does this so fast that it is almost impossible to see her move. The images are faint and ghostly, calling forth souls that have passed into another dimension so that they may bid one last farewell to those they left behind. Another medium she uses to do her work is her knowledge of the human psyche and her empathy for the human plight, which make it possible for her to cast images beneath the eyes of a person while they are sleeping.

These images are such that they will cause sweet dreams reminiscent of times that are past, and people that are gone from the material world.

Bone Sister's "beret" consists of two bone-like structures that are affixed to the sides of her bare skull, sitting at the sides of her head like two stationery closed angel's wings. They have become permanent, and have melded with the bones in her head. These bones are her crown, and make her face the altar at which to pray when darkness has unbiddenly descended and will not lift.

Shocked, Blocked, Grieving, Covid, a New Language...

So this year has been quite challenging in so many ways. And no-one might ever read this and that’s okay. It’s a blog. The personal thoughts and feelings that I’m willing to put out there so if someone really wants to understand and know what’s going on with me, it’s right here.

That January morning when I woke up early, picked up my laundry, sat down at the computer and began writing the book I planned to publish this year about my art and other creative works. That morning when I was struck down. Thankfully I survived and was blessed with quick help. Previous blog posts mention the details of that day. Then other losses…… recovering is long and types of aphasia that come and go leave me unable to write a lot of the time, or express what’s inside. It’s as if the millions of creative ideas I get every day that really, really want and need to be expressed are inside me someplace bottled up and when I try to express them through any medium, they don’t come. They’re there, but there’s a block. A disconnect. It’s agonizing. Truly agonizing.

Losing Douglas is something I can’t put into words. I cry a little each day. Sometimes a lot. I will miss him for the rest of my life.

I’ve reached out for help to mentors and friends. One spoke with me about finding a new language. Sounds good but I liked being able to write in English. I’m getting a moment of clarity now so I’m writing in this blog. Sometimes I can’t. I wish I could write that book I started on the morning of January 21st this year. Maybe I will do my best and let it be choppy, let it be whatever it is. This seems to be the year when I’m embracing imperfection.

So September came and despite how low I felt in body, mind, and spirit…. craving expression, craving a sense of purpose, craving relief from the crushing blow of loss……. my closest friends (I am so grateful for them) decided to celebrate my birthday with me. I did. I laughed, We laughed our asses off, we had a blast of a day even though it didn’t seem glamorous it was the best birthday I could have hoped for. Friends, food, music, board games, laughter. People who make me feel like home and make me feel that I’m okay wherever I’m at, in whatever frame of mind or state of being….. that I am loved and accepted. That is the very best we can all hope to have in life. This is the treasure. The connections, sense of belonging, and the joy that arises from them.

A week later I got covid. Not from my friends, they’re all careful. I had gone out to a couple of events but I always wear my mask. I’m always careful, but it was impossible at certain points to be six feet away from others and so many are not wearing masks (shame on them). Finally I got it. I felt like crap and as I’m writing this a month later I still don’t feel well and am extremely fatigued, but I survived. That is a big statement considering my general health and how it could have gone. And since then I haven’t been able to work much with my hoop, which was bringing me joy and peace and helping me get stronger. I’ll get back to it when the covid fatigue passes. Hopefully that will be while the weather is still mild here.

I’m low. I’m trying to grasp something in each day. I feel no sense of purpose. It’s everything. This year has pummeled me.

So the new language thing that one of my mentors mentioned….. I remember how this summer Douglas was going to reteach me how to use the recording software I have. I’m doing it anyway and I’m sure it’s far from perfect like it would have been if he was still here guiding me through it.

I’m making sounds, making music of sorts. I have realized that with the types of aphasia I have since the strokes, there are times when if someone speaks too fast, I don’t understand them at all. Also, speaking can be difficult with word recall. There are actually times when I feel like talking is like speaking another language, I have to really think about it and sometimes the words just aren’t there. But sounds… I can do sounds. Singing and music are easier for me than speaking, words, and language. So I’ve been making these little audio pieces. I began using my own language years ago and had made a few recordings using my own language. I promise, if any of the sounds I say/sing resemble actual words in other languages, it is purely unintentional. So I am creating sounds and music of sorts in a language that I feel but that might make no sense to anyone listening. That’s okay. In some way perhaps it will be more powerful that way. If someone feels it, perhaps it will transcend the limitations of words.

Here’s a link to my Sound Cloud page if anyone who actually makes it to this blog, reads to the end of this entry and wants to hear it: https://soundcloud.com/robynbellospirito

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.

The loss of a dear friend...

Here we are in 1994 - me and my dear friend Douglas, my partner at the time. This photo was taken at one of the art exhibitions we curated for our art magazine The Exhibitioner. The magazine was a labor of love and even though it was mostly my brainchild, I couldn’t have done it without Douglas who helped me make decisions, fold pages, fold covers, distribute issues in person from Manhattan to the Hamptons, hang shows, and host openings and special events. We were partners in many ways.

Last week Douglas was in a car accident that instantly took him from the world and I have been crying ever since. He was a unique and gentle soul. We spent fourteen years together as a couple and remained friends after we parted ways in 2006. He moved to Florida and devoted his life to taking care of animals and the environment. He still made music when he had a chance. He was many things - musician, artist, poet, scientist, astronomer, jewelry designer, gemologist, animal lover, and nature lover. So much more…. it is so hard to properly describe anyone in words, as we all have depths and layers and complexities that cannot be quantified, only felt.

I have so many memories of the things we did and laughs and smiles and jam parties and fun, interesting things we participated in like an art fashion show at Outrlimits in Franklin Square in 1994. There is a video of that on my YouTube channel. Douglas didn’t drive, for some reason he refused to get his license and I’m not sure if he ever did, but we went a lot of places. Fortunately I like driving. We went south to visit my friend Martha Briggs in Virginia and drove to Kitty Hawk, NC one day to drop off my art piece titled “Celestial Transport” to a gallery. We also traveled north to visit his family, making a stop first in Salem, MA and then drove north to NH and spent a day at the Scottish Games in the White Mountains. We went into NYC a lot. We went to the IMF at NYU a few years in a row. We loved cats and had our own, and when there was a brief period when we didn’t have our own, we’d take care of other people’s cats for them. We had fun making music together. We had jam parties where Douglas would set up a drum kit and bring out instruments, including a box of percussion toys, some he made. I played a pink bass and he played many things so our friends could play what they liked. One time a friend came over with a shakuhachi which our friend played beautifully and our jam supported the beauty of that playing. So many things… Douglas’s first and only show with his “live rig” playing and singing his songs at Dr. Stella Russell’s Art Salon in Oyster Bay in 1994. His “live rig” was amazing, a tower of musical technology and it took five car trips to get all the gear there. He played keyboards, drum pedals with his feet, and sang at the same time. His songs were brilliant but unfortunately he never got around to recording them. That day was also my birthday so he planned a surprise birthday for me right after his show. At one point in the late 90’s. he worked for Danny Elfman and I was working part-time for Audrey Flack. We would meet afterward downtown in a small bar/club in the East Village where we’d watch many local bands while eating our $2 bowl of mashed potatoes. A funny memory - new yellow pants with a sulfur smell that made us call the fire department before we realized it was his pants causing the burning smell. He was what he called a “Moon baby”, having been born the day men walked on the moon, so we had a moon birthday party for him where he hooked up his telescope to a small t.v. so we could all watch the moon while eating cake I baked with moons and stars on it. I have so many memories. Drawing nights. Funny hats. Rescuing cats and birds. Escaping flying manhole covers. So many memories.

I could go on and on….. but I’ll end here.

I will miss him terribly. I spoke with him just a few weeks ago and before that for his birthday last month. There is no-one else like him. There is no-one like any of us, but some are truly more unique than others. He was one of those truly rare and unique souls. I’m still in shock.

He will be loved always.

The Spark of Movement

Most of my life, oil painting has been my main creative medium. As I’ve been reviewing my life and contemplating how I will move forward as I heal from the strokes this year, I see there are markers that somehow show me the way back to me.

I began painting when I was eight years old. My parents were each attending college at the time and one of the required courses was art. One day I saw a paint box in our livingroom and it was filled with tubes of oil paint. I asked my parents if they’d teach me, so they did. Painting was safe for me… well, visual art. It was quiet and I could express myself any way I wanted to without speaking a word. I was an active, ebullient child who gradually withdrew and became very quiet as my home environment grew darker and more dysfunctional because of my mother’s emotional health. She passed in 1992 and I wish her soul peace. I have great love for both of my parents who passed years ago, years apart from each other. With that said, staying quiet was paramount to my safety at times. Art saved me. It gave me a way to speak. Even with having chronic health issues from the time I was 15 when my first lung collapsed, art was the quiet, still, peaceful way to let everything out.

Now, so many years later, I look back at the times when something else wanted to emerge and a bigger, brighter light wanted to shine in a different way. Reviewing my life since the strokes, I’ve been drawn to thinking about the slow dance and performances I’ve done in the last twelve years or so. I learned that I can sing and I learned that I can dance. I have even done multimedia performances with the intention of touching people’s hearts and bringing them a magical experience. I thought this was new but when I look back, I see that it wasn’t. It was in me the whole time. Even in our home movies taken when I was a kid, I was acting, performing, and hamming it up in front of the camera. It’s just that no-one saw me. No-one noticed that I had all this creative energy that wanted to come out and be expressed physically, through movement, sound, costume, and stories without words. I had to stay small back then, but it was always in me.

When I worked at The Metropolitan Museum of Art after graduating college, one Monday afternoon when the museum was closed to the public but open for employees, I sat out on the front steps on my lunch break. A photographer was taking photos of the façade and I was the only person sitting on the steps. Eventually I saw out of the corner of my eye that he was including me in the photos, so I began posing. He came up to me after and told me I should be in movies. I had no idea what he was seeing in me.

Around that time, I met a lady named Josette who did tarot card readings, which she learned when she was in France as a teenager. She showed me a thick photo album of pages from a fashion magazine from the 1960’s and I asked her if she was the photographer. She said no, she was the model. I was often dangerously underweight when I was younger, but thin worked for fashion. I didn’t think I was remotely pretty but Josette told me that in Europe they accept all looks, not just the tall blonde models that were used here in America. She suggested that I go to France and give it a shot. I was surprised and didn’t believe in myself. I had no idea. I didn’t go, as I wanted to finish college. Looking back, I wish I had ditched the useless Art History degree (found out the hard way only a PhD will do in museums for a livable wage) and taken off for Paris.

A friend who I’ve known since we were fourteen reminded me that if I want to remember who I am, to look back at all that I’ve done. She also reminded me of the photo shoot we did with my college roommate Denise Sfraga in 1984 (one photo is above). There… that’s the spark, trying to emerge.

As I move forward and continue healing, I don’t know what will come. I’ve been painting circles. I also just bought a hoop for moving - a circle to dance with. One of my favorite quotes is by one of my biggest inspirations - David Bowie. He said, “I don’t know where I’m going from here, but I promise it won’t be boring.”

Cherry Blossoms and a Circle Dance

Remembering the days when I danced and did performances is helping me, even though as I heal from the strokes I may not get back to where I was (can we ever go back?), I believe I will be able to do it in a new way. Even when I did these dances, I never felt well, as I've had health challenges for a long time. Recovering from the strokes is much more challenging and is going slowly, but it is happening.

This photo was taken during a performance at Cinema Arts Centre in Huntington, NY in July, 2011 at a special event honoring Vic Skolnick one year after his passing. I did the performance with my friend William Kruhmin. The Cinema showed the film Cherry Blossoms after our performance and a Cherry Blossom Tree was planted in his honor in their beautiful garden.

William and I had rehearsed for this and had a framework for the performance which was to be contained within a Circle in the brickwork in the garden. The story of our performance was about the gifts we are left with after those we love pass into spirit (gifts represented by roses). I chose a piece of music from the film, Chinsagu No Hana. I represented one of spirit beginning the performance by descending the stairs into the circle, and William was already in the circle and stayed there the whole time. To our dismay, as the music began, I heard that it had been cut in half! It was starting in the middle! Oh my... I wasn't sure what to do.... probably nobody knew, but I feel our performance would have been stronger if we had done it as we planned with the full piece of music. So here we were, on the spot, having to tell the same story in half the time. As I got to the bottom of the stairs, I stared off into space and spoke the words, "This is not the beginning," hoping to alert the sound guy. He didn't hear me, but people were watching and probably thought that was part of the performance. So all we could do was move forward. I had a dozen pink roses that I placed around the circle as I danced.... some people reached for them, but I was a spirit and placed them on the ground around the circle. William began moving around the circle on the opposite side, picking them up and gifting them to people in the audience around us. Eventually we met in the center of the circle and our movements echoed each others.... symbolizing that all our relationships are but a brief and beautiful encounter with another soul. As the music was about to end, I made my way slowly back up the staircase, out of the Circle (life) and William stayed there, holding a rose.

Thanks to William for making it possible. I was so grateful to be able to offer this, as the Cinema Arts Centre is one of the most important places in our community. It was an honor to perform there.

The thing about Cherry Blossoms (Sakura) and why they are so celebrated each year is because they only burst into bloom for a short couple of weeks before they pass. It's so important to grasp beauty, love, joy, life when we have it because nothing lasts forever. Everything is temporary.

The circle paintings I am doing now are a way to accept the present moment whatever it brings, and usually... I would venture to say that always... there is something to find joy in, to sing about, to dance about, to love. In each moment. Even Sensei Kazuo Ohno (one founder of butoh), before he passed at age 104 and could hardly move, still continued to dance with just his eyes.

I Am Brave

I am brave! It took me years, decades, to be able to say kind things to myself. This morning I tried something that I quickly found out was much too soon for me to try, but I went for it anyway. I found out that there are free tai chi classes up in town on Tuesday mornings. I've done tai chi before, and qi gong, but with my balance so poor since the strokes and walking with a cane out in the world, I wasn't sure. We never know until we try, although sometimes we DO know when it's just not time yet.

Today I wondered if I might be ready because in the evenings I walk outdoors on my own and have started to walk without the cane just in the backyard. I move, I am beginning to find my moves again, and my slow dance. I've been slow dancing! So this morning I went to CAC and everyone was so kind. I even saw Charlotte Sky who remembered me from when I did a performance there about 10 years ago with my friend William Kruhmin before they showed the film Cherry Blossoms. This morning I was welcomed, and was also told that whatever I needed to do, however long I could stay was okay. I lasted about fifteen minutes and instead of being so hard on myself as I am accustomed to being, really all my life... I was kind to myself. It's a new thing. Being kind to myself. Totally new, and I must say it feels a whole lot better than giving myself crap for needing to go at an easy pace and let myself heal. Also, granted, I'm not a morning person and had the class been in the evening I likely would have been able to do some of it. But it's okay.

Oh, and this photo was another one from the same photo shoot years ago with Alex M Wolff as the photo I used in yesterday’s blog post. This was from a group of shots that were Alex's idea. We saw a low-lying branch that was thick enough for me to stand on, and Alex had a white umbrella that seemed an interesting complement to my white hoop skirt. He shot this so it kind of looks like I'm floating, or something. I really loved doing those photos! And I'm not very good with heights unless I'm on top of a mountain or at the front top deck of the ferry that goes across LI Sound, so I guess I was brave back then too. I'm only just beginning to know it.

For those who actually make it through this post, for whatever you might be facing or going through, may you acknowledge your braveness and be kind to yourself, too!

Back to Life, Art, Movement - Slowly

Photo by Alex M Wolff

I often think of the many photos that resulted from creative photo shoots I did with photographer Alex M Wolff several years back. Not only was he supportive of my creative ideas, but he captured a lot of 'tween times, the magic moments when I lost myself in the zone and he was watching and caught them in a picture. He's amazing to work with. Here is just one photograph from a photo shoot that felt like many photo shoots in one because of costume changes and the look and feel of the processing afterward. During the shoot, he changed up lighting and gave some direction, but basically I was set free to be me. I love costumes and there have been times in my life, like when I was busking up in town or doing a butoh performance, when I felt more 'me' than I do in regular clothes. It's an intense desire to express myself. It's not about seeing myself, but expressing myself. The desire is still strong and right now the fire is burning me, it hurts..... it seriously hurts, as it's part of who I am, and when I don't have an outlet for it, it's excruciating. One friend a long time ago, before I ever did performances or photo shoots... when painting was my only medium.... one friend noticed I was in a sad/anxious/grumpy mood and this friend asked me, "When did you last paint?" I realized that at that moment, I needed to go to my easel. The mediums I turn to have expanded since then and it's like a palette.... will it be music today, poetry, movement, painting, or photography? Often I cannot choose.

Right now I am starting to move again as I continue to recover from the strokes. I am SO blessed and fortunate that I CAN move..... I go through the scenario in my mind about January 21st, that day... if I hadn't gotten to the hospital as quickly as I did, where would I be? I try not to think about it, but in a way it keeps me in a place of immense gratitude.

But I have a problem - I need to create and let the fire out, but I'm not sure how right now. I need to shine, and I am moving slowly again. I can do a lot despite the need to rest often and move slowly. So what now, I wonder. One of my dreams is to be in a movie. I want to tell stories without words. One thing that is certain is that nothing ever stays the same, and it is important to never underestimate the power of creative resilience. We never know.

Circling Back to the Circle

In my last post, I wrote about having so much creative inspiration and ideas and yet not knowing how to express them in my post-stroke body, which is healing slowly. There are moments (like when I wrote that post) where I get caught up in thought and trying to figure it out, trying to push it, trying to go back to the old me which no longer exists. Then I remember the Circle and how it feels to paint it when I have the energy to do so.

After the strokes, I can’t quite describe the state of mind I was in for many months, and still am a lot of the time now. It is more a state of being. BE-ing. I could, and still can sit for long periods of time looking out the window with not a thought in my head, nor a need to do. I hear birds, see the blue of the sky, the green of the leaves on the trees, and sit in perfect stillness - seeing, hearing, being. Perfect for times when rest is imperative. Quiet, stillness, peace is the state of being in my empty head. I say ‘empty’ not in a derogatory way, but in a good way. When I am here in this space, or this space is in me, there is no struggle and no suffering. Words don’t come and I am okay with it.

When I am in this state of BEing, talking feels like pushing. Words don’t quite come. When they do, they are slow. The fast-paced culture I live in feels like a different reality going at speed that I am currently unable to understand. When someone wants to talk with me, when I feel I can, there are often frequent pauses. I have to ask others to speak more slowly because I almost cannot understand them at the pace at which they normally speak. Even music that is fast is almost painful, as I cannot listen too quickly. I listen slowly. I walk slowly. All has been stilled, within and without.

This is the state of being I have been in most of the time after the strokes (especially right after), and when I began creating circles. The first circle was drawn in pencil. A friend led an online meeting for artists to create together, so I felt I would attend to see what might come. I had no desire to create, as everything I felt I might want to say already existed albeit perhaps not materially. Everything already is, so why do? I had been feeling this even before the strokes. In the online art meeting, I remembered the mandalas I created a few years ago and thought I would simply start by drawing a circle in pencil on paper. I found peace with a hard pencil that made soft gray marks and I used it to very slowly and blissfully create a gradient around the interior line of the circle. And it was complete, which surprised me, but I accepted it. That is what I did for half of that meeting before saying farewell to the artists, turning off my computer, and returning to rest.

I called that first circle a mandala. Only yesterday I learned that the word ‘mandala"‘ means circle in Sanskrit. The circles I create are empty in the center, and yet complete. In each moment we are here, we are not what came before and we are not yet what is to come… although what will come has already come because that is the circle of things. We just can’t see it yet and trying to see it, pushing to see what we cannot yet see will only cause suffering.

My state of being after the strokes has fluctuated, especially as I heal. Recovering is not linear and each day is different from the next. In my last post I was very attached to all I have done and want to do and it was causing me grief. That is natural, I think. I do have endless stories to tell, ideas to express, and mediums to explore and play with. And I DO want to DO. But this blank state of BEing that descends like a soft veil or emanates like the surface of a still pond is a gift from the strokes. It is a way to peace and to acceptance of myself as I am right in this moment. Right here. Now. I want to remember to reach for it when I begin to suffer by trying to see ahead of myself in the circle of my life.

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.

My Sanctuary and My Holiday

Last week on a balmy December evening, I wandered the grounds of one of my favorite places, very slowly meandering and gazing at the changing light, the vast painted clouds, and the soft colors of a fading year easing into wintertime. The mansion was lit up with lights and trees and holiday decorations and such a feeling of comfort filled my heart, as it is what is familiar to me. This is what is familiar, so it still brings comfort. And there was going to be a tree lighting that I couldn't afford to attend, but that was fine as I was happier wandering the grounds while they were open, and happy to know that others were celebrating in a way that brought them joy, and that comfort was near. The moon rose above the pines and a hawk spoke a greeting before dark came. The sky lit up over the horizon and blushed as it disappeared for the day, and that moon glowed pale above the golden light in the big house as people hurriedly prepared indoors to have visitors expecting food, cheer, and merry presented to them on a shining tray. That moon shone bright and unobtrusively, and the air filled with the scent of wet earth made its presence felt like a freshly birthed hug. That moon and its soft glow were both my sanctuary and my holiday all wrapped up in one. Choirs may sing their holiday songs but the birds are sweeter to my ears right now as winter joins in the dance of the circle of life. And the moon with its soft gaze back to me was my holiday tree lighting, as it perched for a time above the pines in that deepening blue of the sky. And I felt so wonderfully small and part of it all.

Art During Covid19

Being an artist in these times is pretty strange. It goes against common sense to spend time making art when people are dying and the ones who are most needed are the doctors, nurses, store clerks, delivery people, and everyone who is considered an essential worker. Artists are not, but then again, are we? I answered this question on a podcast called Dream A Little Dream, hosted by artist Jessie Taylor. I attended a virtual art salon at the beginning of the pandemic and shared my thoughts about how artists are equipped for these times. I made a separate video about the topic, which is on my YouTube channel. I was in a heroic state of mind, I suppose, thinking that because we have the time to create because we’re in lockdown. and because art can be such a solitary process and we’re used to being alone or even fighting for time to be creative, that the pandemic was a rare opportunity for us to delve deep, use the time and our resources, and be more productive than ever. Some artists have done just this, and I’m incredibly impressed by them. Unfortunately I wasn’t able to live up to my sentiments that I had expressed in that podcast. I felt flattened by what was happening in our world. Dumbfounded, stunned, overwhelmed, and traumatized, and unable to produce much at all. We’re still going through this as I’m typing this post. It’s not over. Maybe my state of New York flattened the curve, but right now the number of covid cases are spiking in other states. Who knows when it will be over, when we will be past this. This changed our world… everyone’s. Some people lost jobs and homes. Others were called to work harder and longer hours because they were needed. Why make art? Because art speaks. I know that. But I couldn’t push and I can’t push. I did some chalk pastel faces and made a video about them. The human face is my comfort zone and I still can’t figure out the expressions on these and what they mean. Here they are anyway. I think they capture a bit of the numbness that I’m still feeling… a combination of blank meets panic.

My Art at The Dolphin and a Starry Sky City

This month, April, my art is on display at The Dolphin Bookshop and Cafe in Port Washington, NY. There is a lot of new work in the show, including recently completed oil paintings, smaller watercolor works, and mandalas.

Last summer when I had my art at The Dolphin, it felt like a very different show. Back then I included “Primavera, Baby!”, my colorful Spring Goddess with a flower crown and sunglasses. The current show has work that has more blues in it, although not all. I’ve framed my smaller watercolors, some that are blue and starry, and also the mandalas.

There is a lot of work that I would love to show but no longer have access to, either because it has sold, or is being stored and is not available to me. So, I looked deeply into my closet and stacks of art to find work that hadn’t been seen that I might be able to include. There are a couple that I found that are older, in excellent condition, that had never been seen by anyone but me. Then there is work that was wet on the canvas two days before it was hung on the wall.

At this point in my career, I think of almost every solo exhibition as a retrospective of sorts. Of course it would be a dream to have a big studio space with lots of light where I could work as large as I liked, do completely new art for each show and have a place to keep the ones that don’t sell when the show is over. Isn’t this what every artist dreams? Ah… well, it’s my dream. One day, perhaps I will have that space. So much wants to be born from me… colors, images, shapes, and that blending thing I do when my brush has been loaded with different colors and some of each color remains trapped in the brush in layers until I press it onto the surface of a canvas. Then I blend, blend, blend and things come out… shadows and colors that have no name. I make it smooth, too. That’s just always been what I have preferred. It would be wonderful to be creating new art regularly, but that is not an option partially because of lack of space. So I show work from all periods of my life, and each exhibition is a glimpse of many years of my devotion to my art.

Hanging shows was always easy for me until recently, because of my health. I’ll get through this, my doctor says (and I believe him), but I knew I needed help and put the call out. My long-time friend and fellow artist Mike Stanko offered to help and was a HUGE help!!! I would have had great difficulty on my own and would have probably been there all day figuring out how to manage. A HUGE THANK YOU to my friend Mike!

Whenever I hang a show I bring more work than I need. I think this is probably the case with most artists. We can make a rough estimate as to how many paintings will fit in a space, but how they look side-by-side and how cohesive it is, is another thing. One of the paintings I hoped to show was the one I’m holding in this photo. It’s called “Night City”, and it’s a very deep, luscious dark blue painting with a floating city in a starry sky. This painting inspired me to write a children’s story years ago. I won’t give the story away, but basically it’s about having a safe place, wherever you are, where you can be who you are, have peace and quiet or run in the halls like a sillyhead, where no-one will tell you that you’re wrong for being who you are. It’s a good story, I think, and one that would be helpful for kids to read. Unfortunately, I didn’t include this painting in the show because it just didn’t work somehow with the rest of them. Years ago, I included it in another solo exhibition and a little girl of about ten years of age came up to me and said it was her favorite. That touched my heart, especially because of her age, and I wasn’t aware that anyone had actually seen it. She really saw it.

Peace,

Robyn

'Round and 'Round

So far 2019 has presented me with some intriguing art experiences that have brought me new inspiration. The form of a circle, the never-ending path of the spiral, and the labyrinthine inward turning of the mandala are in me and my art.

I do a lot of art now. I paint small circles with watercolors and add pen and pencil to them to create enclosed little worlds. Using colored pencils, I draw mandalas which do not look like the mandalas most people are familiar with, but I anchor the design on the central point even if it is not immediately noticeable. I’ve always liked the ‘tween times and ‘tween spaces, a dancing around of sorts.

In January I went to visit the Guggenheim to see the art of Hilma af Klint, which deeply resonated with me in a million ways, most of which I wouldn’t be able to explain in words. Around that time I worked with a fellow shamanic practitioner who invited me to draw a mandala. Before the new year, I had already been creating small watercolor circles. I remembered Carl Jung’s Red Book. All of it came together.

I continue to create mandalas as a way to find peace. I turn to the circle for solace and self-understanding. Oftentimes these days, my art feels like a self-prescribed balm for health issues I face, as I am being treated for chronic Lyme and also require more eye surgery in coming months. In Lyme, there are spirochetes which are spiral organisms that invade the deepest crevices of the joints and organs and are hard to eradicate from the body. Perhaps through the spiral and circular forms I create, I can find a way to the corkscrew-shaped life forms, and a way to make peace with them somehow. There has been a saying that to catch a fish, think like a fish. I’m not sure if this will work for me, but at least drawing the circles and mandalas brings me great peace while I’m doing them. Creating them calms my mind when my thoughts begin to race with fears of how I will get through this, how I will regain strength, how I will get rid of the excruciating overall pain in my body, and how my health will be restored. The whys are clear… nymph deer tick bites all over me in September, 2016. I pulled almost twenty fully engorged ticks off of me and had over fifty bites all over. They were small and stayed on despite showering. It took me more than 48 hours to discover them all. I became severely ill within days - difficulty walking, thinking, seeing, intense light sensitivity, a racing heart, slower breathing, the development of a facial tremor. One friend who was a nurse saved my life because she was the only one paying attention, calling me frequently to check on my symptoms and suggesting I get on a course of doxycycline asap. I did a 21-day course which got rid of the symptoms, but two months later symptoms returned and worsened and more symptoms appeared. The why’s are clear, but the how’s are not. After going to several doctors for help over the last 2-1/2 years, I am currently seeing a Lyme specialist and I have some hope as I continue forward.

So I sit with spirals, in the great labyrinth of life walking to and fro toward one destination. And I draw. A compass creates the circle around a central point. The pencils smoothly glide across the paper and the harder I press, the more vivid the colors. With a steady hand and two sets of eyeglasses with still no clear focus, I find my way around.

Robyn

Moon Song + Moon Art

This song came to me when I was driving one evening when the moon was almost full. The melody came, along with some words. At a stop light I pulled out my phone and recorded the melody, which I knew would fade quickly if I didn't catch it right then and there. Over the next couple of days, the weekend when the moon was full, I finished it early one morning and played it for Jimi on my bass. He jumped in and added some beautiful guitar to it. This is not a proper recording, just one that I recorded on my phone for now, so it's rough and some of the lyrics might not be clear (they are typed below), but here it is. Many of my paintings have the moon in them, so I put those in the video, too. Thanks to Jimi Durso for the guitar playing and for the encouragement. 

"MOON"
by Robyn Bellospirito  

Moon, moon,  drench me in your light
Moon, moon, caress me with your light  

Silver strands to hands that reach right to you
Let me feel my way through the night
Sift my heart like flour in your garden
Gently flow me to you with the tide  

Moon, moon,  drench me in your light
Moon, moon, caress me with your light  

Reflect to me the depths of my soul's wishings
Reveal upon my head a silvery crown
Your ancient melody directs my footsteps
Lift me up so high I can't float down  

Moon, moon,  drench me in your light
Moon, moon, caress me with your light.  

Copyright Robyn Bellospirito 2018, All Rights Reserved 

The Dolphin Show - Art & Music

At the Opening Reception at The Dolphin Bookshop in July, 2018, I asked Jimi if he would be interested in playing music at the opening. Here's a video I took of him playing and then I panned around the room to show some of my work. I included newer paintings as well as some that were over thirty years old. In a way, it was a little retrospective exhibition. I liked having my work there. Thanks to Robin for the show. 

 

 

Sacred Dolls

I did not make the dolls in the photo above, but they are similar to what I made for a friend.

Several years ago I began making small dolls for friends out of homemade clay, fabric and other materials. I called the dolls "I Love Me" dolls, and each one was a small version of the person for whom it was created, with colors and objects that held meaning for that particular person. My intention was to make dolls for my friends that would help them get in touch with their little self, their child self, to help them feel nurtured and feel self-love. 

It's strange being an artist who has all my life, known myself to create art as, well... art. For most of my life, even though I knew my art had a spiritual component to it, I didn't do it with any spiritual intention, but merely to create art as an artist does. Recent years of progressing on my spiritual path have allowed me to see my art differently. A teacher called my paintings power objects and I thought, hmmm... that's interesting. The papier mache masks I made were created for pure fun, although since I made them years ago, I learned about the use of masks in sacred ceremonies, particularly in shamanism. Some of the art objects I've made (as art), are still art to me but yet call to a deeper place within me, as if they were made for a purpose greater than what I had intended. One example is my "buddies", as I call them, or skulls on sticks. They were made for a performance, but feel like they have a deeper meaning the more I have them around, although I only use them in performances and creative projects. I'll write about them in a separate blog entry of their own at some point. More and more I am seeing that so much of my art is linked to my spirituality, and that my artistic talents can be used to create power objects for others and for myself.  

Recently a friend for whom I had made an "I Love Me" doll a few years ago contacted me to request that I make her a new doll. She is a dear friend who is going through treatments for cancer, and she wrote asking for a doll that would help her find strength and love. This is something special, not just an "I Love Me" doll. I needed to journey on this one, so I did. In a journey I met with this friend's great-grandmother who told me exactly what the doll should look like and what it should be made of. It was to look much like a Native American corn husk doll, but made instead with cotton cloth and other soft materials. According to her great-grandmother, it was very important that the doll wear the color red, for strength. I worked in sacred space, smudged the materials before using them, and then began to work with love in my heart and my hands. The doll ended up being a little bigger than the one shown to me in a journey, so I checked again in another journey to ask if it was right, and the great-grandmother said yes, it was.  I didn't take any photos of it. The dolls in the photo above are just examples of what I based this doll on. It was different, but similar.

It was difficult scheduling a time to deliver this doll to my friend, as her schedule is filled with doctor's appointments, self care and time with her family. One day I knew it was time for the doll to go to her. I think her great-grandmother was prodding me a bit to get it to her somehow. I happened to have a wooden basket with a lid, so I set the doll inside of it on some soft fabric with a card explaining its creation, wrapped it with ribbons, and then left the basket on my friend's doorstep. 

She let me know it was received, which is all I wanted to know. It's so important in this work to not have expectations or be attached to an outcome, just to do the work and let it go. With my paintings and other art that is "just art" (is it ever really JUST art, I wonder?), I sign them. But, when a special object is made for someone else, it wouldn't be right for me to put my name on it. It's not mine. I'm just the conduit making it for someone else, guided by spirit.

Peace, Healing and Blessings to all.

Robyn

Eyes Open, Eyes Closed

Years ago I painted the painting above which is titled "Healing Spirit" as a gift for a friend. At the time whenever I painted a face, the eyes were always open. I enjoyed painting eyes, choosing the color, giving them light and roundness and a feeling of peace. 

During one of my shows someone remarked that the open eyes in my paintings were startling, unnerving, a little unsettling. I began to hear this every so often. One day when I was painting a face with the eyes open, they started bothering me too. It felt like they were glaring at me, so I closed them with a few strokes of my paint brush. After that I only painted closed eyes. To me it felt just as peaceful, like a sort of sleep, but without the stare.

Recently I was asked why I paint all my faces with closed eyes, so I told the story of how it was mentioned to me years ago that some people were disturbed by seeing the open eyes. One of my friends said she preferred the open eyes. "Really?" I asked, in excitement. Sometimes we just need one person to understand and accept what it is that we do, so that we feel okay about doing it, not that artists do their art for anyone but themselves, although some do and that's all right. But I don't, and by closing the eyes, even though it felt right to me at the time, now it feels a bit like I was backing down from a stare, so to speak. That's not like me at all.

Now I'm painting open eyes again and it feels really good. Here's looking at ya. :)

Peace & Blessings,

Robyn

Building the Temple

For a period of about a year, beginning in 2007, I painted in an abstract style. I made a video of those paintings and have posted it here on my website under the "Art" tab for those who wish to know the story of them. One of these paintings was titled "Building the Temple". 

Some of my abstract paintings were a bit more visually chaotic than others, and all of them felt very free to create. The freedom was scary at first. Freedom sounds like it would be a good thing, and it is. But when we are used to some degree of control, making a shift toward letting go and allowing things to be a lot more loose and free-formed can feel a bit daunting. After that fear passed, I found the process of creating these works invigorating. 

"Building the Temple" emerged with this same freedom, but with a sense of deliberation, as if the building blocks already knew exactly where they were supposed to be and just fell into place with each brush stroke. The energy was settled and serene. It told the story of creating wholeness. I remember it vividly. I created this after I had had a healing session with the shamanic practitioner I was working with at the time and I was feeling as if pieces of me had been put back into the right place. They had been, and this was the result. 

When she saw this painting, she felt drawn to it and pretty instantly felt its peace. I knew it belonged with her and gifted it to her as a gesture of my gratitude, for it was a symbol of our deep work. 

Peace and Blessings,

Robyn