Don't lose your head

"How does one kill fear, I wonder?

How do you shoot a specter through the heart,

slash off its spectral head, 

take it by its spectral throat?"

-- Joseph Conrad, Lord Jim

Barbie disguised as the Headless Horseman
with polymer clay Jack 'o Lantern head and a bronze horse 10-25-13

"No, you must believe me. 

It was a horseman, a dead one. 

Headless."

-- Sleepy Hollow

"I just sort of lost my head for a little while."

-- John Mayer

"I like a woman with a head on her shoulders.

I hate necks."

-- Steve Martin, A Wild and Crazy Guy

I have played with Barbies more during this 365 days project than I ever did as a child.

And here's why.

At least, here's why I think why.

I have 3 sisters. And with 3 sisters you don't play Barbies alone.
If you have sisters, then when you play Barbies, you play Barbies with at least one other person.

And when you play Barbies with others, especially strong-personalitied, opinionated, bossy others, they often try to dictate what and how your Barbie does what it does.

Because they also have a Barbie. And the Barbies must interact. The Barbies can't just live independent, parallel lives that never intersect. That's the whole point of playing Barbies. You've got to make them interact. They have to come out of the Barbie beach house and socialize.

For instance, your sister's Barbie needs to borrow a pair of rubbery pink pumps because she only has yellow ones. So she hops her Barbie over to you and trades shoes, and you get the pink ones, one of which is chewed. 

Or your sister's Barbie wants her Barbie to go cruising in the pink Corvette and wants your Barbie to ride along. But your sister's Barbie gets to drive, because it's her Corvette, which means your sister gets to push the car while you just sit and watch.

Or your sister says your Barbie can't wear the sparkly dress because her Barbie is wearing a sparkly dress, and they can't both wear sparkly dresses, because that's copying and her Barbie had her sparkly dress on first.

So you dress your Barbie in a pair of Ken's bell bottoms and maybe a nice sport coat and a pair of loafers, and calmly watch your sister lose every last bit of her ever-loving shit.

If you've followed the blog very long, you might know that back in March I bought a bag of 7 Barbies for $2.99 at the thrift store. They were all buck naked, but otherwise in really good shape. Among other things I've put mustaches on them, stuffed all their heads into a Chinese takeout container, turned one into a zombie, painted a Day of the Dead face on another, and covered one with blood a la "Carrie."  

Good, good times.

Today, I popped the head off one and replaced it with a Jack 'o Lantern that I sculpted from clay. I even painted blood on her neck stump (with permanent marker) and hot-glued a sword in her hand (I glued it because the bitch can't grasp. My G.I. Joes can grasp. Ever hear of a little thing called the "Kung Fu grip"?)

Trust me, if I did any one of those things to any one of my sisters' Barbies, they would have raised holy Hell and screamed something at me like "I'm telling!"

But I don't have to worry about that anymore. Because now I have my very own Barbies. And I can do what I want because there is nobody here to tell me I can't. And that's why.

I'd say I've definitely gotten my money's worth.

A personal note:

The summer I turned ten years old, my parents took me and my sisters to Mackinaw Island. The trip was my "big gift" (note to parents: if everybody else goes on the trip, too, the birthday child knows they're getting juked, 'cuz everybody else got the same gift as them and it isn't their birthday.) Anyway, the horse in today's portrait was in a gift shop. It was one of a pair of $20 bronze bookends. I only had $10 -- birthday money from my grandparents, who always gave us our age in dollars. Somehow my dad convinced the shop owner to break up the pair and sell me a single stallion for $10.

I loved this horse more than I loved the trip, because nobody else got a horse. Just me, the birthday girl. Even if I did have to buy it myself.

I also remember something about fudge and a rubber tomahawk, but the details are sketchy.

Smoke gets in your eyes

"Now laughing friends deride

Tears I cannot hide

Oh, so I smile and say

When a lovely flame dies

Smoke gets in your eyes."

-- The Platters, "Smoke Gets in Your Eyes"

Polymer clay mask with cigarette 8-5-13

"I'm going to put a mask on and scrawl my name across the face of the world,

build cities of gold, come back and stomp this place flat,

until even the bricks are just dust.

So you can just shut up. All of you. I'm going to move the world."

-- Austin Grossman, Soon I Will Be Invincible

"While you're out, will you stop by the party store and buy me a mustache?"

I said that. To my child.

I meant it.

I did need a new mustache, because I sacrificed my favorite one for this project.

I finally finished that mask I started a while back. (You can view it here: afaceaday2013.blogspot.com/2013/07/unfinished-business.html )

He isn't "supposed to be" anyone in particular.
I just made him up.
He can be whoever you want him to be.
This mask isn't particularly wearable, because it's kind of heavy. So it's actually more of a sculpture than a mask, but still. It's a mask.

Maybe I'll try a self portrait with it sometime.
Probably I'll try a self portrait with it sometime.
Definitely I'll try a self portrait with it sometime.

Maybe.

Unfinished business

"In hell there is no other punishment 

than to begin over and over again 

the tasks left unfinished in your lifetime."

-- Andre Gide

Polymer clay mask 7-25-13

"I don't like the word 'experiment' in the context of art in general. 

It implies something immature, unfinished, 

something entertaining for a moment before it becomes irrelevant."

-- Abel Korzeniowski

Peg Boggs:   Oh, my. What happened to you?

Edward:      I'm not finished.

 

-- Edward Scissorhands

Typically a face has to be "finished" before I post it on the blog.

But sometimes I like to indulge in a process that takes a little longer than a day to complete, from start to finish.

Often, if I am waiting for such a process to take its time, I make other less time consuming faces simultaneously, post those, and wait for the time consuming one -- the lolly-gagger -- to be finished.

But today's face, even though I plan to do more to it, looked kind of cool in it's unfinished state. 

So I decided to share it, and some of my process.

For anyone who's interested.

This face is a mask -- a life-sized face -- made of polymer clay.

Usually when I make a mask this size, I use the clay as a mold only, and render the final mask from it in papier mache.

But this face  looked pretty cool in clay, and it had some details that I didn't want to lose in the papier mache.  Plus, I haven't ever made anything this big in polymer clay and I was in an experimental mood.

So I went ahead and baked it and made it permanent.

Here it is "raw," while the clay was still pliable and before I glued in the teeth.

Polymer clay mask (unbaked) 7-25-13

Polymer clay mask, baked, with teeth 7-25-13

And here it is "baked." With the teeth glued in.

While I was photographing it, it was getting dark, so I had work lights on. 

I dug how the light filtered through the mask highlighting and shadowing the different thicknesses of the clay. 

Also, it made this face look super-sinister. Which I also dug.  

It looked like this:

Polymer clay mask (2) 7-25-13

He looks pretty devilish, doesn't he? 

Or maybe she's a she.

 I haven't decided yet. 

Stay tuned.

To get the image at the top of the page, I used this same image, and just fiddled with the colors and contrasts, turned and tweaked a couple of knobs.

I plan to do more with this mask, but I enjoyed playing with it the way it is. 

It's a lot like raising kids.

You don't have to wait for them to grow up before you can enjoy them.

They're lots of fun at every age.

And its nice to take pictures to chart their progress along the way.

Also, just in case I fuck up this mask by doing more with it, I wanted to have a record of its existence while it was still pretty good.

Which is also a lot like raising kids.

Hold on

"I like to use my hands and make things ...

It might seem pretty stupid or  pointless but that doesn't matter ...

Some of the most interesting work is the stuff that starts like that --

out of a raw need for activity."

-- Bruce Nauman

Self portrait in polymer clay 7-7-13

“I don't want to be the one who says life is beautiful.
I want to be the one who feels it.”

-- Marty Rubin

Best. Scarecrow. Ever.

“I promise not to hurt you, unless you try to take my shit. 

Then I'll twist your head off and hide it in a bush somewhere.” 

-- Cedric Nye, The Road to Hell is Paved With Zombies

Zombie scarecrow 6-23-13

“Brains, BRAINS, BRains, brains, BRAINS.
BRaiNS, brains, Brains, BRAINS, BRains, brains, BRAINS.
BRAINS, BRains, brains, BRAINS, brains.”

-- Ryan Mecum, Zombie Haiku: Good Poetry for Your ... Brains

I planted a lovely vegetable garden earlier this spring.
It is fenced in and gated to keep out the rabbits and squirrels.
And now, for extra protection, it has a zombie scarecrow as a security guard.
He is guardin' my garden.

The way I see it, scarecrows are scary enough as it is.
Zombies are even scarier.
So the one-two punch of scarecrow and zombie is a fright cocktail that should keep out anything with a brain.

My son, Leo, helped me build this scarecrow, which is standing sentinel between the yellow zucchini and the red bell peppers.
I, of course, made the face. I made it from a Styrofoam wig head, some spray paint, some polymer clay rotted teeth and raffia (for hair).
Leo provided the arrow penetrating the zombie scarecrow's heart, as well as the materials for the dangling eyeball (covered wire and a bouncy ball). He also helped me pick out the zombie scarecrow's wardrobe at the thrift store. (I particularly love the adorable little -- er, I mean super scary -- Freddy Krueger sweater.)
Leo also built the frame and distressed the clothing, and he made the hands.  

A zombie scarecrow really is the best kind of scarecrow.
Think about it.
I don't have to worry about him eating my broccoli, zucchinis, cucumbers, peppers, basil and tomatoes, because zombies don't eat vegetables.
Zombies eat brains.
And vegetable plants don't have brains.
Except cauliflower kind of looks like brains.
And I am growing three cauliflower plants.
I will keep a dangling eyeball on those.

Escaping the labyrinth

“Never regret thy fall,
O Icarus of the fearless flight
For the greatest tragedy of them all
Is never to feel the burning light.” 

-- Oscar Wilde

Polymer clay face with maple tree seed wings 6-18-13

“It seemed as if he had been falling for years.
Fly, a voice whispered in the darkness,
but Bran did not know how to fly,
so all he could do was fall.”

-- George R. R. Martin, A Game of Thrones

"If God wanted us to fly, He would have given us tickets."

-- Mel Brooks 

“Oh No! My wings are effed up!” 

-- Tammara Webber, Between The Lines 

If you haven't figured it out by now, I enjoy mythology.

Greek. Roman. All of it.

I read Edith Hamilton's Mythology in a high school world humanities class and fell in love.

Zeus. Hera. Apollo. Mercury. Icarus -- the danger, the adventure, the deception, the romance, the gods and goddesses whimsically exercising their grudges with each other by fucking with humanity.

I was the only student in the class who was totally into it, I think.

Yep. 

I was that kid.

I was an English major in college, but I took a heavy load of classics, as well. My final thesis was a comparison of literary styles shared by the Odyssey and the Aeneid, titled "Virgil's Dialogue With Homer: Artistry and Vision."

How pretentious does that sound?

Jesus, did I really do that?

 

There is something about those old myths that still gets me.

I think it is the truth.

The truth about human nature in relation to unpredictable forces beyond our control.

 

Like Icarus.

Icarus was the son of Deadalus. 

They lived on the island of Crete, ruled by King Minos. 

King Minos had an elaborate, inescapable labyrinth where he imprisoned the Minotaur, a deadly monster. He threw his enemies in there too.

 

Deadalus (with the help of a hot chick named Ariadne) betrayed the king by helping another guy, Theseus. He gave Theseus a thread so he could retrace his steps out of the labyrinth after killing the Minotaur.

 

Minos felt betrayed, so he imprisoned Deadalus and his son, Icarus, in the labyrinth.

Being a crafty guy, Deadalus knew the only way out was up. So he made 2 pair of wings from osier (willow) branches and wax, and taught Icarus to fly.

It worked. 

Deadalus and Icarus flew out on their new wings and escaped the labyrinth.

Deadalus warned Icarus not to fly too close to the sun, or his wings would melt.

But Icarus got so carried away by the amazing feeling of flight, that he didn't listen. 

And, well, his wings melted, and he crashed and burned.

Technically, I guess he burned and crashed, into a lake. 

 

Lots of ink has been spilled about what the lesson of Icarus is, much of it having to do with the consequences of youthful disobedience.

 

My question is, is it better to stay trapped in the labyrinth, with no way out, waiting to die someday?

Or is it better to take a risk and cobble together a pair of homemade wings so you can fly out of that fucker and feel freedom, even if it's only momentary?

 

So what if you fall?

You are probably already falling as it is.

 

For me, the lesson is simple. Get out. Whatever it takes. You might stick the landing.

But if you don't ...

 

I'd rather die free than imprisoned.

 

Whatever your "labyrinth" is, whatever imprisons you, whatever confusing maze hems you in -- depression, addiction, chronic pain, anxiety, insomnia, all of the above -- with the right people helping, you can get out.

They might sneak you the necessary thread.

Or they might just build you some wings.

Take the wings.

Don't worry about the potential crash.

Just fly.

Luna tick, Luna tock

“Zaphod felt he was teetering on the edge of madness 

and wondered if he shouldn't just jump over and have done with it.”

-- Douglas Adams, 

The Ultimate Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy

Polymer clay face 5-30-13

“Of all the things a man may do, sleep probably contributes most to keeping him sane.” 

-- Roger Zelazny,  Isle of the Dead 

“I lie on the floor, washed by nothing and hanging on. 

I cry at night. I am afraid of hearing voices, or a voice. 

I have come to the edge, of the land.

I could get pushed over."

-- Margaret Atwood, Cat's Eye

Ding ding ding!

Insomnia fun fact!

Since I was up all night and the moon was big and bright ...

Luna is the Roman name for the Greek goddess of the moon, Selene. She is best known in ancient art and literature for her role in the myth of Endymion.

Endymion was a shepherd, and is thought to be the first human to observe the movements of the moon. I figure he watched the moon a lot because he was up at night literally counting sheep and looking out for predators that might be stalking his flock in the dark.

At least he had a good reason to be awake, unlike me, who was up all night fending off anxiety, agitation and total lunacy by polishing all of my boots and shoes, lifting weights, reading a photography magazine, and watching Robert Irvine salvage yet another dying eatery on "Restaurant Impossible."

Ding ding ding!

Bonus insomnia fun fact!

"Lunacy" is a term that comes from the word lunaticus, which means ... wait for it ... "of the moon" or "moonstruck". "Lunatic" is a term referring to people who are considered mentally ill, dangerous, foolish or unpredictable. Hence, today's crazy face.

Yay! Fun with etiology!

But back to our myth.

According to the story, Selene (aka Luna) was super-infatuated with Endymion the hottie demigod shepherd, who was a son of Zeus, and who was young and beautiful (especially, it seems, by moonlight).

Apparently, Selene/Luna thought Endymion looked particularly good when he was asleep, so good, in fact, that she asked Zeus to grant him eternal youth and eternal sleep so that she could enjoy gazing at his flawless, moonlit, slumbering face forever and ever. Zeus granted her request, and every night until the end of time, Selene visits Endymion where he sleeps endlessly and eternally in a cave on Mount Latmus.

Sleeps endlessly and eternally ...

I'm totes jelly.

Some hottie demigod shepherds have all the luck.

Ding ding ding!

This isn't fun anymore.

Clayface

"What is a face, really? 

Its own photo? Its make-up? 

Or is it a face as painted by such or such painter? 

That which is in front? Inside? Behind? 

And the rest? 

Doesn't everyone look at himself 

in his own particular way? 

Deformations simply do not exist."

-- Pablo Picasso

Self portrait with polymer clay face 5-22-13

Polymer clay face with jiggle eyes 5-22-13

 "No man for any considerable period 

can wear one face to himself 

and another to the multitude, 

without finally getting bewildered 

as to which may be true." 

-- Nathaniel Hawthorne

"Facing it, always facing it, 

that's the way to get through. 

Face it."

-- Joseph Conrad

Charmed, I'm sure

 "But upon that perfect countenance 

was the mark of eternal pain, 

of deathless agony and suffering past words."

-- Gertrude Bacon, "The Gorgon's Head"

Polymer clay Medusa face 5-17-13

“I was my face, I was ugliness ...
It became the launching pad from which to lift off,
the one immediately recognizable place to point to when asked what was wrong with my life.
Everything led to it, everything receded from it--my face as personal vanishing point.”

-- Lucy Grealy, Autobiography of a Face

“I would pay snakes to bite her.”

-- Chuck Palahniuk, Invisible Monsters 

You don't have to rip my face off

“I want to make something of myself. 

I believe it’s called a statue. 
” 

--Jarod Kintz

The Titanic would never have sunk if it were made out of a sink.

Smiling bendy man with magazine cutout statue and a polymer clay face 5-16-13

“Stealing, of course, is a crime, and a very impolite thing to do. 

But like most impolite things, it is excusable under certain circumstances. 

Stealing is not excusable if, for instance, you are in a museum and you decide 

that a certain painting would look better in your house, 

and you simply grab the painting and take it there. 

But if you were very, very hungry, and you had no way of obtaining money, 

it would be excusable to grab the painting, take it to your house, and eat it.”

-- Lemony Snicket, The Wide Window

Can I buy a Z?

“Winston was gelatinous with fatigue.”

                                                                                             -- George Orwell, 1984

Polymer clay face 5-10-13

“You cannot imagine the craving for rest that I feel—a hunger and thirst.”

                                                                                     --H. G. Wells, When the Sleeper Wakes

Soooooo tired.

After an all-too-short sort-of hiatus, my insomnia has stalked me down again, with a vengeance.
Just when I thought I was making some miniscule headway, crawling out of the dark and tangled forest a sleep-drug-free inch at a time, insomnia reached out and snatched me back into its spiky, spiny briars.
And not just the "it takes a long time to fall asleep" kind of insomnia. Oh no. It's the "wide awake all f***ing night, a 42 mile bike ride, two Ambiens, two Unisoms, a fistful of melatonin and valerian, white noise machine, sleep hypnosis CD, all the chamomile tea in the world can't touch it" kind of insomnia.

Forget about catching Zs. I can't even buy any Bs or Cs.
Go big or go home, right?

I frequently, seriously and hopelessly wonder if it will ever get better, or if the rest of my life is going to be this -- this search, this struggle, this quest for something that is supposed to just naturally happen, that is one of the most basic functions of being human. Or maybe it's not so much as a "quest for" what should be happening, as it is a wish to "escape from" what actually is happening, this mean and terrible thing.

Either way, it's a tug and pull that is grinding me down, hard. A lifetime of it looks pretty bleak.

Not sleeping can crush a whole day -- just pulverize any possibilities and potential into a dry pulpy dust.
So as a result, I don't make plans.
I don't look ahead.
I don't commit to anything.
I don't "hope for."
I don't make promises.
I don't go anywhere.
I have no great expectations.
I have no not-so-great expectations.

Because chances are I won't be able to show up or follow through anyway. And I hate having to back out of things and cancel stuff all the damn time. An uninterrupted string of empty blank squares on my calendar is soothing, a comfort. If I don't make plans, then I don't have to worry about letting anybody down, because nobody is expecting anything from me. It's easier to just say no, and to isolate myself, like I'm under quarantine. At least behind the self-protective closed door of my life I'm the only sufferer.

And behind the closed door, I have this 365 days project. And I will not let insomnia ruin this. Because right now, this seems to be the one thing that I can plan on, look forward to, commit to, hope for and expect. It's someplace I can go. It's the only promise I seem to be able to keep. So I will cling to it.

I tried to shoot a self portrait today, but for the first time all year I just deleted every photo, every file.
I looked ninety eight.
And not a good ninety eight.
I haven't played with my clay in a while, so I sculpted this exhausted little face as a stand-in for my own.
My fingerprints are all over him, though. So I guess it is a self portrait of sorts.

Or more accurately, a self portrait out-of-sorts.

Sigh.

Try a little tenderness

"Tender," she said again. 

"Tender is kind and gentle. 

It's also sore, 

like the skin around an injury.”

                                                                                        --Brenna Yovanoff, The Space Between

Polymer clay sad face 4-23-13

Please be gentle.
I am feeling tender today.

P.S. I am featured today on 365-days guru Noah Scalin's "Make Something 365 and Get Unstuck" blog. Check it out at http://makesomething365.blogspot.com/2013/04/erins-face-day.html

Beginning again. Again.

"The beginning is always today."

                                                 --Mary Shelley

Polymer clay face with egg shell 3-17-13

It's therapy. But is it art?

Screaming polymer clay face with Mohawk 3-13-13

Art therapy.

I tag that label onto a lot of my posts here at the AFAD2013 blog.

There are myriad "official" and "accepted" definitions and ideas about what art therapy is. I don't really care about definitions. Definitions aren't always helpful. For me, if it's creative and it helps carry me through a day or a week or a moment without totally losing my shit, then it's art therapy.

I began taking daily self portraits on Jan. 1, 2011 as a self-imposed 365 days art project. It was definitely therapeutic. With the important guidance and support of someone a whole lot steadier, wiser and settled than me (I'll call her "M"), I journeyed through some pretty delicate and dangerous emotional, psychological and spiritual territory.

I didn't show the photographs to anybody outside my own immediate family and one very trusted friend, and they saw only a very select few.
 "M" saw every photograph.
Even the ones I didn't want to show her.
Especially the ones I didn't want to show her.

Those 365 days were transformative. Not to get all maudlin and dramatic about it, but those 365 days probably saved my life. At a time when I felt like I was disappearing -- dissolving -- the task of making a self-portrait every day gave me a reason to get up, to look around, to move forward. I created a photographic record, concrete visual proof, that I was indeed still there.

And I had a witness.

Screaming polymer clay face with Mohawk (2) 3-13-13

Sharing the portraits with "M" gave them importance. Urgency. Gravity. It made them real. It made whatever I was thinking or feeling or saying real. I wasn't just spitting into the wind or shouting into the void.

I am still imposing art therapy on myself because I need it, and I know it.
And "M" still sees every photograph. Her tender and willing participation in this project (along with my family and that very trusted friend) has encouraged me to open the door to a wider audience (you!)

I am not going to pretend for even a hot second that I believe that the portraits on this blog will rock anybody's world but my own. And that's OK, because whatever the accepted definitions might be, art therapy isn't about rocking anybody else's world. It's about keeping my eyes wide open as I travel through my own personal interior landscape and being brave enough to document what I see. It's about daring, and caring, enough to be an observant and curious sight-seer along the highways, back roads and dark alleys of my own life.

Polymer clay face with Mohawk (3) 3-13-13

At the end of the day, creating and  capturing faces for this blog is less about art, and more about art therapy. Whatever is happening inside and around me, whether I'm feeling happy, sad, angry, confused, sure, inquisitive, silly or volcanic -- art therapy gives me the tools (and the toys!) to say what I need to say. Or in today's case, to scream what I need to scream.

A little rebellion

"I'm not going anywhere. 

I'm going to stay right here 

and cause all kinds of trouble."

-- Suzanne Collins, Catching Fire

Polymer clay face with paper eyes and cigarette 3-10-13

Polymer clay face (2) with paper eyes and cigarette 3-10-13

A little face.
A little attitude.
A little trouble.
A little bad ass.
A little rebellious.
A little defiant.
A little insolent.

Totally adorable.

Thomas Jefferson said "A little rebellion,
now and then, is a good thing."

I agree.

I made this face from clay and paper scraps while I was supposed to be cleaning out my office/studio/workspace.

I didn't get much cleaning done.
But now this little rebel exists.
And I definitely think that's a good thing.

To sleep: perchance to dream

Ay, there's the rub.

Polymer clay sleepy face (2) 3-9-13

I sculpted this little face during a long car ride yesterday following a string of difficult nights of very-little-not-til-the-wee-hours sleep, and fresh (or not so) on the heels of a night that yielded absolutely no sleep at all.

Zero. Zip. Zilch. Nada. None.

I rode in the rear seat and passed the time there and back pressing and molding and smoothing and rubbing the egg-sized lump of clay in my hand until this sleepy guy emerged.

He is my second sleepy head this month (see also March 2). Maybe in my desperate quest for sound, regular slumber (who am I kidding? At this point I'd settle for any quality of regular slumber) I am subliminally (or not so) shaping sleep totems for myself. Maybe by making sleeping faces I am trying to conjure magic or some kind of spell for myself that will hold the sleep stealers and insomnia bandits at bay. I don't know. But at this point, I'm willing to try just about anything.

He looks peaceful, despite his earnest little furrowed brow. He makes me feel peaceful. He is resting on my pillow. And I did finally sleep better last night. So maybe some drowsiness really did seep out of him and into me.

Maybe not.

At any rate, sculpting clay is a lovely way to pass time in the car. I highly recommend it.

Face yourself

"God has given you one face and you make yourselves another." 

-- William Shakespeare, Hamlet Act 3, Scene 1

Wood mannequin with polymer clay face 3-5-13

Shadow play

"If you don't have any shadows you're not in the light."

-- Lady Gaga

Shadow face (polymer clay) 3-3-13

 Playing with light, dark, planes and angles.

Sleepy head

“I don’t know if you’ve ever felt like that. That you wanted to sleep for a thousand years. 

Or just not exist. Or just not be aware that you do exist. Or something like that. 

I think wanting that is very morbid, but I want it when I get like this. 

That’s why I’m trying not to think. I just want it all to stop spinning.” 

-- Stephen Chbosky, The Perks of Being a Wallflower 

Polymer clay sleepy face 3-2-13

Dreidl, dreidl, dreidl, I made it out of clay

OK, it's not really a dreidl.
It's another face.
But I did make it out of clay.
And jiggle eyes.
And false eyelashes.

Polymer clay face with jiggle eyes and false eyelashes 2-27-13