Behind the mask

"Behind every mask there is a face,
and behind that a story."

-- Marty Rubin

Self portrait 9-25-13

"I hold my face in my two hands.
No, I am not crying.
I hold my face in my two hands
to keep the loneliness warm --
two hands protecting,
two hands nourishing,
two hands preventing
my soul from leaving me
in anger."

-- Thich Nhat Hanh

"We were not meant to mask ourselves before our fellow-beings, 

but to be, through our human forms, 

true and clear utterances of the spirit within."

-- Lucy Larcom

"Because the mask is your face,

the face is a mask ..."

-- Faith Ringgold

Pucker up butter-cup

"I don't have to KISS her, do I?

Is that what Valentines do??!

Oh, gross!"

-- Bill Watterson, The Indispensable Calvin and Hobbes

Self portrait 8-14-13

“A kiss may ruin a human life.”

-- Oscar Wilde

Self portrait (2) 8-14-13

"Although it is rare, the fear of touch can have devastating consequences for those who suffer from it. If you are struggling with a fear of touch, kissing may feel like a violation instead of a pleasurable experience.

In some cases, the fear of kissing stems from a deeper concern over intimacy or vulnerability. Some people are actually more comfortable with having sex, which they view as impersonal, than with kissing, which they see as intimate. These issues are complex, and are best faced with the help of a competent, understanding therapist."

-- Lisa  Fritscher, 

"Philemaphobia: Understanding the 

Fear of Kissing"

Premium blend

"Why fit in when you were born to stand out?"

-- Dr. Seuss

Self portrait 8-13-13

"Want a reliable road to emotional and spiritual suicide?

Spend your life trying to fit in."

-- Brandon Mull

"The only rule is don't be boring and dress cute wherever you go.

Life is too short to blend in."

-- Paris Hilton

Inside out

"Beauty is how you feel inside,

and it reflects in your eyes."

-- Sophia Loren

Self portrait 8-1-13

"I love the confidence that makeup gives me."

-- Tyra Banks

Self portrait (2) 8-1-13

"Telling an introvert to go to a party 

is like telling a saint to go to Hell." 

-- Chriss Jami

I am an introvert.

That comes as a surprise to some people, because I am also a performer.
People can't wrap their minds around what they see as a disconnect -- how can somebody who likes being onstage in front of an audience also be an introvert? It doesn't add up.

Well, I'm not a mathematician either. But I do know I'm not the only actor who finds solace and comfort in inside the skin of a character, who takes refuge in being someone who is not them.

Costumes. Makeup. Dialect. Somebody else's words to speak. Someone else's problems to solve. Someone else's life to live. It's the perfect hiding place.

You get to feel confident, because you've rehearsed.
You know your lines.
You don't have to be anxious about what you're going to say. The words are handed to you in a script. You are not allowed to add or subtract. You say exactly what's on the page.

You don't have to be self conscious, because you know what to do. How to stand. What to do with your arms. You don't have to worry about any of that shit, because all of your movements and actions are worked out in rehearsal. You do them over and over, again and again, for weeks, until they are right, and automatic, and essential. Perfect.

You don't have to wonder how you're ever going to get out of this place, away from all of these people, and you don't have the pressure of sustaining friendships and work relationships with any of them.
After about six weeks, rehearsals end.
A few weeks after that, plays end.
Performances last about two hours and they're done.
You may work with some of the same people in the future.
And others you will never, ever see again.

For now, you can get in your car, alone, and drive home, alone.
In complete and utter silence, if you like.
No chatting necessary.
Thank God.

The trouble for an introvert like me isn't performing on a stage. It is performing in real life.
When I have to be me, and say my own words, and make my own moves, my confidence falters.
My insecurities kick in.
My anxiety revs into high gear.
Fortunately, my acting skills usually kick in too, and I can improvise convincingly enough to get me through.

Yesterday I had to attend a meeting of all the football moms.
I wanted to go, for my son. It was really important to him. He kept asking me, "Are you going to the moms meeting?" Like he wasn't sure I'd be able to man up and go.
I can understand why he might feel that way. He knows my weaknesses.
But because it was so important to him, it was also really important to me, so of course I went.

I'm sure it's all in my imagination, but those gatherings of all those women feels to me like swimming with sharks, or walking the gauntlet ... it's junior high all over again and I feel like troll girl in my boys' jeans, black t-shirt and Doc Martens, trying to keep my buzzed head down as I navigate the crush of perky girls, and pretty girls, and mean girls, and cliques, and peer pressure ("Sign up to sell 50/50 tickets!!!" "Don't miss the family beach picnic!!!!")
So much tan.
So much pink.
So much hair, and makeup, and fingernails, and sandals, and pedicures, and energy.
So much ... much.

My introverted little soul was scared shitless before I even left the house.

So before I went, I put on my makeup.
My skull makeup.
I painted my face, not expertly, but as best I could in the limited time I had, and then I took pictures of myself. I felt beautiful and strong, creative and capable, but in my own secret and introverted way.

And then I washed my face. I dabbed on a little bit of regular boring makeup, and went to the meeting.

Even though I washed it off, the process of painting on skull makeup and taking the photos -- all of it gave me the confidence boost I needed.

Yay! Art therapy!

I guess it's a little like an Indian brave putting on war paint, or a soldier camouflaging his face, or a football player smearing on eye-black. I felt ready and able to swim with those sharks, to walk that gauntlet and be there for my son.

I'm really proud of him, and I want him to be proud of me.
I don't want him to ever feel afraid that I'll leave him hanging, or embarrass him, or make him feel unloved because I didn't show up.

Anyway, I only know how to be the mom that I am, and hopefully I'm the mom that my sons need.

And maybe those other moms aren't so bad after all.
I'm sure some of them are just as insecure and introverted as I am.
Maybe the tans and the nails and the hair is their war paint. Maybe that's what they need to put on so that they can feel ready and able, so that they can show up for their sons.
Some of them are actually pretty nice, and they do a lot of really great stuff for the boys, mine included.
The truth is, those moms get shit done.
They do a lot of stuff that I simply can't do, and seriously, I need moms like them to fill my gaps.

  

Laid to rest

"Wanderers eastward, wanderers west,

Know you why you cannot rest?

'Tis that every mother's son

Travails with a skeleton."

-- A.E. Housman, A Shropshire Lad

Self portrait 7-30-13

"The longest way must have its close --

the gloomiest night will wear on to a morning."

-- Harriet Beecher Stowe, Uncle Tom's Cabin

Self portrait (2) 7-30-13

"Might there come a time

When we stand over a grave

And mourn ourselves?

Mourn the past, a previous life?

Shall we weep for the passing of time?

Shall we grieve for unfulfilled dreams?

In my naivety; in my belief

In immortal youth, 

I sleep walk through life.

Someone ... wake me up.

Please.

Wake me up.” 

-- Samantha Young, Slumber

Today could potentially be kind of a big deal.

Today I am driving to a city about an hour and a half away, to a hospital with a sleep disorders center, to meet with a specialist who deals with chronic insomnia, to maybe, possibly, lay my sleep troubles to rest.

I am cautiously, tentatively optimistic.

Today could be the start of something good. 

It could be a step towards living again, towards reclaiming my life, which feels like it has been circling the drain for months -- dying a slow death, too exhausted and too wasted from sleep deprivation to do much else.

I've read and learned enough  about insomnia to understand that a permanent, non-pharmaceutical solution won't be easy and will probably involve a lot of hard work and effort. 

I'm prepared for that. 

The bright, hopeful side of me is, anyway.

I think.

   

I am also realistically, skeptically wary.

Today could big a big flop.

The specialist could tell me that a permanent, non-pharmaceutical solution is an impossible dream as she hands over a prescription and laughs like a cartoon villain. Bwaaa haaa haaa!

The specialist could simply say "You're fucked."

I'm prepared for that, too.

The darker, cynical, jaded side of me is, anyway.

Either way, I have to at least try.

And I will. Try.

Because I want insomnia to be something I once had. 

I want it to be a memory.

A bad dream that I was forced to stay awake for.

A visitor that came and way, way way overstayed its welcome, but ultimately left.

I want it dead.

A ghost.

A skeleton.

I want it, and me, to rest in peace.

Un-a-veil-able

"At the end of the day it's about how much you can bear,

how much you can endure.

Being together, we harm nobody;

being apart, we extinguish ourselves."

-- Tabitha Suzuma, Forbidden

Self portrait 7-28-13

"Emotional unavailability means that for whatever reason, 

you are choosing to honor protection of your heart instead of love...  

Emotional unavailability is the layer (how you show up to other people) 

that is covering the pain or fear of pain, which is covering up who you really are ... 

When you are only sharing parts of yourself, 

there is no way the other person can unconditionally love you, 

because he or she doesn’t know you. 

It is like taking someone on a tour of your home 

but keeping the door closed and locked on your favorite room. 

You’ll let them into the kitchen, living room, and even the bedroom, 

but not into your most treasured room; 

perhaps it is your shrine, perhaps it is your garden. 

In any case, it is your sacred place. 

The “heart of your home” is off-limits, 

leaving others to feel as if they don’t really know you completely, 

or feeling left out of an important part of your life. 

This leads to mistrust because they don’t know for sure what you are withholding, 

and they begin to feel like you are hiding something. 

Indeed, you are; your most authentic self.

-- Monique Marie,  

"Emotionally unavailable: What it really means and how to get on the right path"

“I’d begun to notice her less and less often, 

like her colors were fading and blending in with walls. 

She was shrinking.”

-- Laura Anderson Kurk, Glass Girl

Aaaaaarrrr! A pirate's face for me!

"Life's pretty good, 

and why wouldn't it be?

I'm a pirate, after all."

-- Johnny Depp

Self portrait 7-17-13

“A taste for adventure is by no means a masculine monopoly.”

-- Lloyd Alexander

“I do not see, for there is no I to see. 

That is what the pirates know. 

There is only seeing and, 

in order to go to see, one must be a pirate.”

-- Kathy Acker 

"I have a pirate fetish --

 I just always thought eye patches were sexy."

-- Michelle Branch

So, remember how yesterday I said I might start wearing an eye patch to hide my fluttering, twitchy eye?

To quote myself, I said,

"I'm thinking about wearing an eye patch.
A really cool-looking, bad ass eye patch.
It could be my thing.
I could be that cool, bad ass chick with the eye patch."

Well, I went one step further and made myself a bad ass pirate eye patch.

And once I'd made the pirate eye patch, really the only logical next step was to actually dress up like a pirate and wear it for a self portrait. Besides, it was a perfect excuse to try out my tarantula neck tattoo.

Granted, I don't look much like a chick, but I still think I look pretty cool.
Pretty bad ass.
And that fluttering eye thing?
You can't even notice it behind the skull and crossbones and dozen metal spikes.

I totally love it that my kids don't even flinch when I do shit like this.

While I was finishing up this costume, my 18-year-old son, Sam, came home from his responsible, normal, grown-up, big kid job.

I should have been fixing supper, but instead I was upstairs blacking my teeth when he came into my bathroom.

He was like, "Hey, whatcha doing?"
And I was like, "Dressing up like a pirate."
And he went, "OK. Do I have time to mow a couple of lawns before supper?"
And I was like, "Sure."

I love my family.

I mean, you know, when I'm not at sea, swashbuckling and avasting ye hearties and plundering and getting booty and lots of other super-adventurous, dangerous pirate-y stuff.

Flutter-eye

"The primary and most beautiful of Nature's qualities is motion,

which agitates her at all times."

-- Marquis de Sade

Self portrait 7-16-13

“Oh, my twitchy witchy girl
I think you are so nice,
I give you bowls of porridge
And I give you bowls of ice
Cream.
I give you lots of kisses,
And I give lots of hugs,
But I never give you sandwiches
With bugs
In.” 

-- Neil Gaiman, Coraline

"A guy who twitches his lips is just another guy with a lip twitch --

unless he's Humphrey Bogart."

-- Sammy Davis Jr.

 

I have a most annoying condition.

It is called a hemifacial spasm. It is a nervous system disorder which causes the right side of my face -- primarily my eyelid and all the muscles around my eye -- to twitch. Involuntarily. Constantly.

Usually only my eye is involved. But sometimes it spreads down and grabs onto my lip, my cheek.

For years it has come and gone. But it is particularly persistent right now.

In the past I have had it injected with Botox, twice, which worked, but also paralyzed my eye open so that I couldn't blink on one side for weeks. Both times I had to tape my eyelid shut to sleep so that my cornea wouldn't dry out overnight. Gross.

The doctor said that paralysis only happens to .02 percent of people who get the treatment. He also said I should never get injected there again. Oh, and he also said there is no other treatment.

And so I twitch and flutter, flutter and twitch.

It's super distracting and really embarrassing. I notice that people can't help looking right at it when it happens, and it makes me feel terribly unattractive and self-conscious. Eating makes it worse, so I don't meet friends for lunch or dinner.

Smiling triggers it too -- locks it up in a full-blown spasm, twisting my eye grotesquely.
So I avoid smiling.
Or I turn away to hide my google eye, my monster face.

I mostly avoid social situations if I can. And if I can't, I position myself so the other person can't see that side of my face. Or I try to camouflage it with my hand or sunglasses.

I've even started avoiding auditions for plays. Which really bothers me. Because that's what I do. That's my work. I am an actor. But a little bit of stress or agitation, like audition nerves, really kicks it into high gear. It happened on stage in a play I was in a few months ago, and the other guy doing the scene with me saw it and blanked on his lines. Then he teased me about it in the greenroom after the show. He wasn't being mean or anything, but the whole thing caused some really uncomfortable 6-year-old outcast kid emotions to burble up inside me, so I hurriedly changed out of costume and went and cried in my car.

This is one of those unavoidable struggles that nobody can do anything about.
No one can help me.
And that's where this blog comes in.
Making today's self portrait did help me deal with the difficult feelings I have been having because of this annoying condition. Somehow, strewing butterflies across the twitchy side of my face made me feel like less of a gargoyle.

I'm thinking about wearing an eye patch.
A really cool-looking, bad ass eye patch.
It could be my thing.
I could be that cool, bad ass chick with the eye patch.

Bone head

"It is not my intention to be fulsome,

but I confess that I covet your skull."

-- Arthur Conan Doyle, The Hound of the Baskervilles

 

Self portrait  7-15-13

“Life's true face is the skull.”

-- Nikos Kazantzakis

Self portrait (2) 7-15-13

“The trauma said, ‘Don’t write these poems.
Nobody wants to hear you cry about the grief inside your bones.”

-- Andrea Gibson, The Madness Vase

Look me in the eye

"Every closed eye is not sleeping, 

and every open eye is not seeing."

-- Bill Cosby

Self portrait 7-12-13

Re-tired

"Once I worked hard and thought a lot
but I never got tired;
now I do nothing and think of nothing,
but I'm tired in body and spirit.
My conscience aches day and night."

 -- Anton Chekov, Ivanov

Self portrait 7-9-13

“Tired, 

tired with nothing, 

tired with everything, 

tired with the world’s weight 

he had never chosen to bear.”

-- F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Beautiful and Damned

"There's a lot of good waiting for you on the other side of tired. 

Get yourself tired, Andre. 

That's where you're going to know yourself. 

On the other side of tired.”

-- Andre Agassi, Open

Shiny happy Jesus

  "Ask most people what they want out of life and the answer is simple -- to be happy. 

Maybe it's this expectation though of wanting to be happy that just keeps us from ever getting there. 

Maybe the more we try to will ourselves to states of bliss, the more confused we get -- 

to the point where we don't recognize ourselves. 

Instead we just keep smiling -- trying to be the happy people we wish we were."

-- Meredith, Grey's Anatomy  

("Shiny Happy People," Season 6, episode 2)

Crucifix with a stick-on smiley face 7-6-13

 

"That's me in the corner

That's me in the spotlight

Losing my religion

Trying to keep up with you

And I don't know if I can do it

Oh no I've said too much

I haven't said enough."

-- R.E.M., "Losing My Religion"

Turn, turn, turn

“Life is like an ever-shifting kaleidoscope 

-- a slight change, and all patterns alter.” 

-- Sharon Salzberg 

Kaleidoscope self portrait 7-5-13

"Our days are a kaleidoscope.

Every instant a change takes place.

New harmonies, new contrasts, new combinations of every sort."

-- Henry Ward Beecher

Kaleidoscope self portrait (2) 7-5-13

“There are patterns which emerge in one's life, 

circling and returning anew, 

an endless variation of a theme.” 

-- Jacqueline Carey, Kushiel's Chosen

Kaleidoscope self portrait (3) 7-5-13

“Perhaps we can recognize our way out of patterns 

rather than repeating our way out of them.” 

--Patti Digh, Life is a Verb: 37 Days to Wake Up,

Be Mindful, and Live Intentionally

My paternal grandparents didn't have many toys for me to play with.

What they had was a little collection of vintage toys leftover from my father's 1940s childhood. 

The toys lived on a bookshelf behind my grandfather's recliner: a barrel of monkeys, a ViewMaster, a floppy cloth clown that did flips on a wind-up wire contraption, a metal Slinky, jacks, a red and black musical thing that was kind of like a horn but with piano-style keys, a jack-in-the-box, and a kaleidoscope.

The kaleidoscope was my favorite, by far.

It was just a simple cardboard tube with an eye-hole in one end, and a few colorful bits of plastic in the other. Nothing fancy. Until you held it to the light and the magic happened. 

It was like a montage of intricate stained glass, or jewels, but all in shatters. Turning the tube made the shards tumble and fall and reassemble and morph and bloom and collapse. I was captivated.

"Grandpa, look at this one!" I'd say, holding my breath, carefully trying to pass the kaleidoscope to him without disrupting the little miracle that had assembled itself inside. But by the time he held it up to his eye, the pattern had shifted. He oooh'd and aaaah'd, but at another view, no doubt just as marvelous.

During my 2012 "No Day Without Art" 365 days project, I did a little research and learned how to make my own kaleidoscopes. On the outside, they don't look like much. I make them from cardboard mailing tubes or PVC pipe. Inside is an arrangement of cheap craft mirrors duct-taped together, and at the business end, a handful of plastic beads, marbles, plastic bits -- whatever I can find. They cost pennies to make.

I've made several, mostly for me, but I've given a few to my most special friends. I love that moment when they hold their new kaleidoscope to the light and look through it for the first time. They see something magical made from almost nothing. 
 

The thing about looking into a kaleidoscope is that only one person can look through it at a time. You can't really share the experience. So I figured out how to take pictures through my kaleidoscopes so that I can capture the fleeting images before they shift, so that I can share them.

As an experiment, for today's face I tucked a tiny self-portrait in with the beads and marbles of my newest kaleidoscope (look closely). I could have shared a hundred views, but that seemed like overkill, so I am only sharing three.

 

It's my first kaleidoscope that looks back.

The morning after

“The simple truth is that you can understand the way you are. 

You can know and love and hate it. 

You can blame it, resent it, and nothing changes. 

In the end, you're just a part of it.” 

-- Brenna Yovanoff, The Replacement 

 

Self portrait 7-4-13

"I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.  

I learn by going where I have to go.”

-- Theodore Roethke, "The Waking"

This is a self portrait of exactly how I feel on a morning after a night of no sleep.
A morning like this morning.
You'll have to take my word for it when I say it's a pretty damned accurate likeness.
Weird, but accurate.
Seriously.
I mean, yeah, I know it's a plastic gumball machine monkey wearing a C-3P0 mask, but ...
Trust me.
It's like looking in a mirror.

A one-way ticket on the Self Express

"There is only one of you in all time, this expression is unique. 

And if you block it, it will never exist through any other medium and it will be lost."

-- Martha Graham

 

Self portrait 7-3-13

“Be yourself -- not your idea of what you think somebody else's idea of yourself should be.”

-- Henry David Thoreau

“There are only two styles of portrait painting: 

the serious and the smirk."

-- Charles Dickens

Layered look

"A grownup is a child with layers on."

-- Woody Harrelson 

Self portrait 7-2-13

“... sometimes people keep parts of themselves hidden and secret,
sometimes wicked and unkind parts, but often brave or wild or colorful parts,
cunning or powerful or even marvelous, beautiful parts,
just locked up away at the bottom of their hearts.
They do this because they are afraid of the world and of being stared at,
or relied upon to do feats of bravery or boldness.” 

-- Catherynne M. Valente,

The Girl Who Fell Beneath Fairyland and Led the Revels There

“Everyone was made up of infinitely layered petals. 

And everyone had something indescribably precious at the heart of their being.
No one was shallow. 

Not really.” 

-- Mary Balogh, A Secret Affair

Inner circle

"I believe anxiety is caused when the brain cannot resolve conflicts. 

It is a stress response. 

This results in circular thoughts so the same thing is thought over and over again."

-- Dr. Sarah Myhill

Self portrait 6-27-13

"I have come full circle, she told herself, and wondered 

what had happened to all the years. 

It was a question, which from time to time, caused her some anxiety 

and left her fretting with a dreadful sense of waste.” 

-- Rosamunde Pilcher,   

The 50 Best Hotels in Cornwall

"I'm in nobody's circle, I've always been an outsider."

-- Joan Rivers

Dark circles

“Did you ever wonder if the person in the puddle is real, and you're just a reflection of him?”

-- Bill Watterson

Self portrait 6-21-13

“The girl in the mirror wasn't who I wanted to be 

and her life wasn't the one I wanted to have."

-- Francesca Lia Block, Pink Smog

“... the abyss you stare into and that stares back at you is your reflection in the mirror --

we all have it -- that shadow self -- that dark heart ...”

-- John Geddes, A Familiar Rain 

Sleep deprivation chamber

 "... night brings me many a deep remorse.

I realize that from the cradle up I have been

like the rest of the race -- never quite sane in the night."

-- Mark Twain

" We wake in the night, to stereophonic silence."

 -- Mignon McLaughlin, The Neurotic's Notebook

Self portrait 6-19-13

"Beware thoughts that come in the night.  

They aren't turned properly; 

they come in askew, free of sense and restriction, 

deriving from the most remote of sources."

 --William Trogdon 

"Ghosts were created when the first man awoke in the night."

 -- J.M. Barrie, Little Minister 

The real thing

“Wear your heart on your skin in this life.”

-- Sylvia Plath, Johnny Panic and the Bible of Dreams

 

Self portrait 6-15-13

 “Tattoos are a right of passage. 

They're a marker of bravery, of maturity, of cultural acceptance. 

The tattoo represents not only a willingness to accept pain -- to endure it -- 

but a need to actively embrace it. 

Because life is painful - beautiful but painful."

-- Nicola Barker, The Yips

I've done a handful of self portraits with faux/temporary tattoos:

A swallow.
A panther.
Paper dolls.
Japanese lettering.
A gecko.
Henna.

The tattoo in today's portrait is the real deal.

I have been thinking about this tattoo for a long time. For about 2 years, in fact. I did a self portrait in 2011 with these same words, in removable stickers, pressed onto my neck.

This time the words are permanent. Inked indelibly on my arm.

Forever.

Today's face is kind of a continuation of yesterday's post, the one about self-destructive tendencies.

I know the words "don't let me get me" are just lyrics from a pop song. But that doesn't mean they can't be deeply meaningful. That doesn't mean they aren't powerful. That doesn't mean they can't be the cry of my soul, or that they aren't necessary and relevant to my everyday existence.

I am not much of a pray-er. Never have been. Though I have tried it in the past, I never really took to it. It always felt weirdly formal and forced and awkward. It's much easier, more natural, more honest for me, to repeat the catchy lyrics of a song -- to let them replay in my mind, over and over.

You might call it an ear worm. I prefer to think of it more like praying without ceasing. Because these words do function for me as a sort of prayer. Or maybe they're less like a prayer, and more like a mantra.

A plea.

A cry.

A petition.

A request.

An appeal.

Whichever, to whoever, or whatever is out there to please hear me and please help me and please heal me so that I don't wreck myself.

Voices can be silenced. But these printed words, embedded into my skin via needle and ink, say what they say no matter what anyone says. Even if I cover them, they'll never stop speaking into the atmosphere.

They're always there.

So even when I'm too tired, too broken, too afraid, too discouraged to utter them ... these word will say and say and say what they say, every day, for the rest of my life.

Amen.

(Thanks a million to my genius tattooer, Robin H.M., at Tattoo 546. This one's not my first, and definitely not my last.)