Fine and dandy

"The dandy cleans his monocle every day,

a silver monocle with a lens of smoked gold,

given him by a beautiful lady but,

suddenly overcome with sadness,

he has lost the monocle case."

-- Erik Satie, 

Les Trois Valses Distingues Du PR Ciuex D Go T  

by Erik Satie for Solo Piano

Self portrait 12-15-13

Tough shit

"My mom used to say that I became 

a fighter and a scrapper and a tough guy 

to protect who I am at my core."

-- Vin Diesel

Self portrait 10-24-13

"If they didn't call you a tough guy, then what else would they call you?

Something worse than that?

I'm playing parts, and if they call you that, it's because I played the part right."

-- Ray Winstone

Self portrait (2) 10-24-13

"When major badasses greet each other in movies they don't say anything they just nod. 

The nod means 'I am a badass and I recognize that you too are a badass' 

but they don't say anything ... because it would mess up their vibe to explain."

-- Cassandra Clare, City of Bones

Self portrait (3) 10-24-13

"They don't know you're
secretly a badass?"

-- Rachel Caine, Fall of Night

Badass neck tattoo!

Two summers ago I learned how to ride a motorcycle. And then I bought one. Riding my motorcycle lets my inner tough guy out to play, it frees my inner badass like nothing else. 

So for today's self portrait "disguise," I let my inner tough guy show on my outside.

I wore a ponytail wig (even though you can't really see it), bummed some sunglasses  from my son,  trotted out my costume facial hair and got a sweet dagger neck tattoo for 50 cents out of the Drug Mart gumball machine.

Just for the record, the leather motorcycle jacket is mine. It's the one I actually wear it on my actual motorcycle. It is covered in bugs to prove it.

One of the coolest things about riding a motorcycle is when other motorcyclists give me a discreet little wave when we pass each other on the road. It's like a secret handshake, just a little drop of the clutch hand, often with a peace sign, that communicates, biker to biker, badass to badass, "I ride, you ride, ride on." 

I love that shit.

Lipschtick

"I'm the bearded lady! Who are you, one of the freaks?"

-- Spaceballs

Arranged face with beard, mustache, cutout lips and a cigarette 9-6-13

"People talk about my image, like I come in two dimensions, 

like lipstick is a sign of my declining mind ..."

-- Ani DiFranco

Arranged face (2) with beard, mustache, cutout lips and a cigarette 9-6-13

"I smoke so many cigarettes, 

there's no way I could have glossy lipstick."

-- Isabella Blow

"I have a beard of fog that I wear on misty mornings.

It's not cigarette smoke, but I'd understand if you wanted to

shave it off and inhale it."

-- Jarod Kintz,

At even one penny, this book would be overpriced

Best Picture

"Life is a great big canvas;

throw all the paint you can at it."

 -- Danny Kaye

Self portrait 8-31-13

"Make your lives a masterpiece,

you only get one canvas."

-- E.A. Bucchianeri, Brushstrokes of a Gadfly

Self portrait (2) 8-31-13

Gunslinger

"All outlaws are photogenic."

-- Tom Robbins, Still Life With Woodpecker

Self portrait 8-19-13

 “Somehow, we'll find it. 

The balance between whom we wish to be 

and whom we need to be. 

But for now, we simply have to be satisfied 

with who we are.”

-- Brandon Sanderson, The Hero of Ages

When I was about 5 years old, I wanted cowboy guns, cowboy boots and a cowboy hat for Christmas.
I got the guns. Two silver, plasticized pearl-handled pistols with a belt and holsters.
I got the hat. Felt, with a little string under the chin.
I got the boots. Black. Shiny.
I even got a shirt with cowboy piping.
I also got a skirt.
A stiff, ugly black skirt with white plastic fringe along the hem.

There are Super-8 home movies of me in this girly get-up, waving my pistols, trying to be a bad-ass cowboy.
In a skirt.
I hated that skirt.
I didn't want a skirt.
I didn't ask for a skirt.
I knew that no self-respecting cowboy would be caught dead in a goddamn skirt.
And I didn't want to hear about girl outlaws.

I didn't want to be Annie Oakley.
I didn't want to be Belle Starr.
I wanted to be Jesse James.
Butch Cassidy.
Billy the Kid.
 
It wasn't the first time my mother forced me to wear a dress. That happened a lot. Usually for pictures or holidays. I always felt so uncomfortable in a dress. So unnatural. So self-conscious. Like an imposter. A fraud.

But, like all the other skirts and dresses of my childhood, I wore the cowgirl skirt to mollify my parents -- for the pictures.
I tried to look happy. Tried to appear grateful.
As soon as Christmas was over, I took that fucker off and I never wore it again.
I got good mileage out of the pistols and the boots, though.

I am all grown up now, and I still love to shoot. Real guns. I'm a pretty good shot, actually. I am proficient with a .22, a sexy as hell .38 revolver (now that's a cowboy gun), a Glock 9 mm, and a .380 semi-automatic.

I have two pistols of my very own and am a registered concealed carrier.
Yup. I can pack heat.

I have my own real Stetson hat. I have my own real cowboy boots. I even made myself a pair of rodeo chaps -- with cowboy fringe.

Not a skirt.
Chaps.
And just to make sure we're clear, I got myself a handlebar mustache and a beard -- for the pictures.

Buzzed

"Should I kill myself, or have a cup of coffee?"

-- Albert Camus

Face composed from rubber donkey teeth, alien eyes and a mustache 7-31-13

"She didn't know what Liam made his coffee with,

but it had to be magical sparkles and crack beans,

because it was the most delicious stuff she'd ever tasted."

-- Rachel Caine, Two Week's Notice

"I'd rather take coffee than compliments just now."

-- Louisa May Alcott, Little Women

I love coffee.

Strong, black, clean, unadulterated by milk or sugar.

I like coffee that has body, texture.

If I could, I would drink cups and cups of it all the live long day.

But I can't.

Due to a handful of health "conditions," (including insomnia and anxiety) I have become one of those unbearable middle aged people who has to carefully limit their caffeine intake. So I allow myself a single cup of coffee in the morning. Sometimes I sneak a second cup, and almost always regret it. Realistically, I'd probably be a lot better off without even drinking the first cup. 

But Jesus. 

I'm battling chronic insomnia. 

Something's got to give. 

To save me from myself chugging a whole pot of temptation, I rely on one of those one-cup brewers that uses the little hermetically-sealed, single-serve plastic pods. 

It makes passable coffee. 

It's drinkable. Just. 

No body. 

No texture.

Just coffee.

On weekends, if my husband brews a pot of "real" coffee, I drink a little demitasse-full.

His coffee is so, so very delicious. 

I savor it. 

I appreciate it. 

I wish for more. 

I try not to give in.

I drove past two Starbucks on my way home from the insomnia clinic yesterday. 

I really, really wanted to stop. 

I got up super early that morning to get to my appointment on time, and I felt like I deserved a little reward for the ride. 

Just a little treat. 

But the list of sleep rules and guidelines laying on the passenger seat was giving me a definite "look." I think it might have even rolled its eyes and made that exasperated sound.

I kept driving.

And don't say, "Why don't you just drink decaf?"

I loathe decaf.

I'd rather drink ink.

Sometimes I get resentful and angry about not being able to enjoy something as seemingly innocent and harmless as a second, or third, cup of coffee.  And if you've been visiting the blog for long, you know what I do when I get resentful or angry or whatever about anything. 

I make a face. 

For obvious reasons, I named this one "Buzz."

Putting it together

"Arrange your face."

-- Hilary Mantel, Wolf Hall 

Self portrait 7-29-13

 "He has been disassembled by her.

And if she has brought him to this,

what has he brought her to?"

-- Michael Ondaatje, The English Patient

Self portrait (2) 7-29-13

"It's all in how you arrange the thing ...

the careful balance of the design

is the motion."

-- Andrew Wyeth

Self portrait (3) 7-29-13

"Writing has laws of perspective, of light and shade

just as painting does, or music.

If you are born knowing them, fine.

If not, learn them.

Then rearrange the rules to suit yourself."

--Truman Capote

Self portrait (4) 7-29-13

“Bit by bit, putting it together...
Piece by piece, only way to make a work of art.
Every moment makes a contribution,
Every little detail plays a part.
Having just the vision's no solution,
Everything depends on execution,
Putting it together, that's what counts.”

-- Stephen Sondheim, Sunday in the Park With George

 

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

I mustache you a question, but I'll shave it for later.

 

 “Life is great. Cheese makes it better.”

--Avery Aames, The Long Quiche Goodbye

Self portrait with cheesy mustache 6-12-13

“If my love were a bagel, I’d put cream cheese on it.
But it’s not a bagel, so I just put cheddar on top.
Would you like to try a sample?
”

-- Jarod Kintz, This Book Has No Title 

Naked Barbies in mustaches!

“Different though the sexes are, they inter-mix. 

In every human being a vacillation from one sex to the other takes place, 

and often it is only the clothes that keep the male or female likeness, 

while underneath the sex is the very opposite of what it is above.” 

-- Virginia Woolf

Naked Barbies in mustaches 6-1-13

“I have not lived as a woman. I have lived as a man. 

I've just done what I damn well wanted to, and I've made enough money to support myself, 

and ain't afraid of being alone.” 

-- Katharine Hepburn 

"The wounded child inside many females is a girl who was taught from early childhood 

that she must become something other than herself, 

deny her true feelings, in order to attract and please others.”

-- Bell Hooks, All About Love: New Visions 

In today's edition of Helpful Advice from an Exhausted Insomniac's Addled, Sleep-Deprived Brain ...

Sometimes you've gotta do what you've gotta do just to keep breathing.

If gluing silicone mustaches on naked thrift store Barbies helps to get you through a day without totally losing your shit, then for fuck's sake, please glue silicone mustaches on naked thrift store Barbies.

Because the way I see it, gluing silicone mustaches on naked thrift store Barbies doesn't hurt anybody. It might keep you from hurting yourself. And it's fun for the Barbies!

Here at A Face A Day, that's what we call a "win-win-win".

So if you feel like you might be about to lose your shit, STOP!
Be a win-win-winner, like me, and glue silicone mustaches on naked thrift store Barbies instead!

Next time on Helpful Advice from an Exhausted Insomniac's Addled, Sleep-Deprived Brain, I'll discuss some burning insomniac questions, like "Who the fuck is going to eat all of these cookies?" and "3 a.m. Dilemma: Ironing or pumping iron?"

Mix-n-match

"My insides don't match up with my outsides."

"Do anyone's insides and outsides match up?"

"I don't know. I'm only me."

 -- Jonathan Safran Foer, Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close

Self portrait 4-28-13

“I was not ladylike, nor was I manly. 

I was something else altogether. 

There were so many different ways to be beautiful.”

-- Michael Cunningham, A Home at the End of the World 

Humor me

“Blessed are the cracked, for they shall let in the light.”

                                                                                        -- Groucho Marx 

Self portrait 4-6-13

“I don't trust anyone who doesn't laugh.”

                                                                                  -- Maya Angelou

Self portrait (2) 4-6-13

I don't care how pretty you are.

I don't care how much money you make.

I don't care what you drive.

I don't care what you wear.

I don't care who you know.

I don't care what you do.

I don't care what you're worth.

I  don't care what you drink.

I don't care where you came from.

I don't care where you're going.

I don't care if you fancy girls, or boys, or both, or neither.

I don't care what you believe in.

I don't care if you don't believe in anything.

All I really care about is if you have a sense of humor.

Be it big, brassy, wry, subtle, droll, searing, intellectual, whatever -- 

If you can laugh with me, I'm sure to like you.

If you can laugh at yourself, we'll get along all the better.

Life is hard enough, serious enough, and painful enough already.

If we didn't laugh, we'd probably just cry our eyes out. 

So how about you turn that frown upside-down.
Come on.
Humor me.

I'm totally serious.

Weird is better than boring

"Failure is unimportant.

It takes courage 

to make a fool of yourself."

-- Charles Chaplin

Self portrait 3-20-13

"Everybody's doing it 

so why the hell should I?"

-- Gin Wigmore, "Black Sheep"

In preschool, my favorite day was painting day. It was the day the teachers set up the big wooden easels and we put on our art smocks (our father's discarded dress shirts, hanging past our knees, buttoned up the back with the collars across our necks, sleeves rolled up). We painted with fat brushes on giant sheets of paper held up by clothespins, with primary colors mixed from fat tubs of powdered pigment.

The teachers only gave us a single color to paint with, and everybody got the same color. If it was blue paint day and you wanted to paint a dog, it had to be a blue dog. If it was red paint day and you wanted to paint a landscape, it had to be a red sky.
Red earth.
Red sun.
Red trees.
Red house.
How weird.
How wonderful.
How liberating for a child to paint something the "wrong" color and have it be perfectly alright.

Probably the one-color rule had more to do with not wasting precious paint and the ease of clean up at the end of the day than it did with unlocking our creativity. But 4-year-old me didn't care about practicality. All 4-year-old me cared about was slathering on bold strokes of beautiful paint.

It's all 45-year-old me cares about, too.

I have always told my children that weird is better than boring. I believe that deep down in my heart. It's like my personal pilot light, a little blue flame that burns fierce and hot and keeps me alive. When I die, I want it as my epitaph. Beside my name and the dates of my birth and death, I want the words: "Weird is better than boring."

I hate conformity. 

I hate "groupthink." 

I hate anything/anyone that discourages creativity, individuality, uniqueness or independent thought. Yeah, I know, hate is a strong word. But in this case it's an accurate word. 

I have been part of enough groups in my life to know that I no longer want to be bound by any mentality that operates under an "illusion of invulnerability," that becomes so inflated with it's own "rightness" that it rejects any alternative point of view as wrong -- not because the alternative point of view is necessarily incorrect, but simply because the alternative point of view is different.

Choosing to live outside the group can be risky. It can feel very lonely and vulnerable out here on the fringe, without a group huddled around you for protection. 

But it can also feel like freedom. 

Stuck in the middle of a group huddle, you see only group. You see only bland, boring, muddy brown, group-colored sameness. But on the fringe, the palette is marvelous, a dizzying array of differences. 

The brushes are fat. 

The colors are bold. 

The paper is HUGE. 

And whatever color you're painting with -- even if it's weird -- is perfectly alright.

Cheerio!

Self portrait 3-11-13

Whimsy

"You must not ever stop being whimsical. 

And you must not, ever, give anyone else 

the responsibility for your life."

-- Mary Oliver, Wild Geese

Self portrait 3-7-13

"The most regretful people on earth are those who felt the call to creative work, 

who felt their own creative power restive and uprising, 

and gave to it neither power nor time."

-- Mary Oliver

These are words I try to live by.

They are the words of poet Mary Oliver, and they strike such a deep chord in me. I don't want to be a regretful person who neglected -- or worse, suffocated -- the cries of my needy, unruly, goofy, curious, rebellious creativity and let it turn blue with neglect in its cradle.

In the end, my "work" may not make a damn bit of difference to anyone else.  But I can't worry about that because I can't do anything about that. I am the caregiver of my own creative life. It is my responsibility and I take it very seriously. I must feed it. I must teach it. I must discipline it. I must indulge it.

And above all else, I must let it out to play.

Self portrait 3-7-13

That is what this blog is about, really.  It is a nursery where, for these 365 days at least, I am feeding and teaching and disciplining and indulging and playing with my "restive and uprising" creativity. There is necessary structure -- crib rails, if you will, to keep the child's body safe from falling while its dreams spill and burble unbound. But the structure and rules also have doors that open wide onto abundant freedom, a sprawling playground with plenty of vast space for whimsy and silliness to shout and swing, to run and ramble.

I am not trying to impress anybody. I am not trying to be profound. I am simply trying to nurture my own personal and creative growth by giving it a space where it can explore, experiment, try, fail, succeed and test possibility. You are invited to join me as often or as rarely as you like. I hope you feel welcome here. I hope I make you smile sometimes and I hope I make you think sometimes. I hope I make you feel something. If I am occasionally profound, I apologize. It is most likely an accident.

Respect the 'stache

 “Since I don't smoke, I decided to grow a mustache - it is better for the health.
However, I always carried a jewel-studded cigarette case in which, 

instead of tobacco, were carefully placed several mustaches, Adolphe Menjou style. 

I offered them politely to my friends: 'Mustache? Mustache? Mustache?' 

Nobody dared to touch them. 

This was my test regarding the sacred aspect of mustaches.”

-- Salvador Dali, Dali's Mustache 

I made another clay face.
Here he is, rocking the 'stache.
The 'stache is everything.

Polymer clay face with jiggle eyes and string 2-23-13

 And here he is wearing a little hat!

Polymer clay face with jiggle eyes, string and a hat 2-23-13