and after all those brush strokes and finger dabs, I still don’t care for it. It’s Saturday. I started my new job one month ago this past week. It’s been an interesting ride so far, new jobs get more interesting with age. I am slowly getting to know a group of people that I would hope to be with for years, growing and learning professionally. With them around, in an office this time.
So during the weekends, I’m still laying more and more paint into these giant canvases. I sent my husband to get canvases for me a few weekends ago and he brings back 3 massive 5 ft 6in”. They were of course too big to fit in our Mini Cooper so I am amazed he was able to find a way to bring them home and surprise me with them. These ones, I think, must be perfect.
Nothing about it is correct, they look weird and uncomfortable as usual.
I’m having my evening coffee early today. It’s only 2:00pm on a Saturday. My husband is at his moms using her refurnishing tools to build 2 cigar box guitars. I am painting with our son and listening to my Baby Huey playlist. Have a wonderful time. 🙂
Something about working on a collaborative piece of art completely rejuvenates my entire being. This weekend, it was an experimental art film shot by a local filmmaker and professor. My husband was in the film, and was the primary model. My model. Kevin Roy’s model. I was in awe, delicately filming him in and around a bathroom on the top floor at 500 Capitol Inn. Downtown. The sun was shining in his blue eyes just right. They’re beautiful. Framed by his long black hair, I am swooning.
Now it’s Monday night. Back to watching anime on netflix and hanging out with our young son.
Back to reality where we aren’t living in a dream, the subjects of an experiment by a highly creative mind. He’s as beautiful as ever.
That’s what was spray-painted, huge letters that slightly leaned towards the left on a concrete outpost at the top of a scenic overlook called dead mans pass in Oregon.
I got out of the outpost and climbed down, closer to the text. “So it is.”, I said to my companion. I wish it was not stolen. I guess there’s no real way to fix history. I think about it a lot, when I see myself and the other white colored people that I run into in the western United States. Sitting Bull would be disgusted with us, but here I am. I know where I’m from. I can apologize for it forever, but nothing would ever change the past.
I was up all night reading about territorial history in Idaho, Oregon, Washington, Wyoming and Montana. Thinking about that outpost. It was so fucking beautiful.
There’s a lot of ghost towns in Idaho, and I’d like to make a point to travel to them. I want to learn their stories, from all sides. The history of a small towns existence. I don’t consider any cities in Idaho to be really, truly “big”. Not in the sense that I’ve experienced. Boise is the biggest city here and it’s population is under 500k. I can drive through downtown in 10 minutes.
There’s a lot of cities that have populations sitting under 500, very small communities that I don’t understand how the population remains steady decade after decade.
Wouldn’t the children want to move? How does their economy function?
In the late 1800s many small villages and towns formed upon the false promise of gold in the Idaho-Oregon territory. The whites that traveled here did so not knowing, or more likely: not caring that this land was owned and promised to the Native populations that lived here. They fought for this land in the Battle of the Little BigHorn, and they WON! The Nez Perce Indians were supposed to live here in peace but we know how history plays out with white people and any non-white people.
Look at it today. Some cities were developed in Idaho on top of, what is it? Stolen Indigenous Land.
I swallowed my saliva. I don’t see native people out here. They have been systemically shoved into small reservations where they suffer from poverty, lack of education, opportunity and in many cases addiction.
We’re not doing enough. But that’s been the trend, hasn’t it?
Lets hold ourselves and our state representatives and government officials accountable for historic, systemic racism and its effects on modern day populations.
Evening coffee is almost a ritual for me at this point, and it’s been several years. Now, I appreciate it even more as I tiptoe my way through motherhood. My baby is asleep and I’m listening to doom metal and sipping my coffee and reading articles on Indeed.com and Ladders.com on how to make a good first impression.
I have my morning cup and at or around 4:00 pm, I’ll have my second cup. Maybe a third.
The idea was to finish reading Dialogue with Death by Eknath Easwaran and go shop for a new bra. As Eknath puts it in the book, my desire overcame my will. Or anyways, the baby slept so peacefully i dare not wake him. So another cup of coffee it is.
Recently, I ordered a RedBubble dress of my own artwork and it arrived today as per a transactional email. I think the print came out beautifully but I must have misjudged sizing because it’s not very flattering to my figure. I tried my best to model it well, just in case anyone here is interested in ordering one for themselves (!).
It’s very flowy, even moreso for me since I ordered a large. I got a large amount of flow. It feels quite like a decorative bag but thats not going to stop me from living in this dress all weekend.
The original painting is huge and sadly now destroyed. My sister was living in my “earth ship” trailer for a few years and was sadly gliding by in an abusive relationship. The now- incarcerated jerk she was with destroyed it, and left it to rot in a fire pit. I’ll never see it again except for flowing off of my body in this Redbubble dress and online saved as a .JPG and .PNG.
You can check out this painting in my gallery for the original image. Until next time I have a moment and a thought, goodbye 🙂
Antiques. Antique pornography. I can’t remember a time when I didn’t have some kind of appreciation for what women looked like in erotica over the decades and centuries.
Of course I never realized it was specifically European women ( because they get all of the historic representation) when I was in middle school.
Later on I would discover Japanese erotic photographers and artists, but it all started with pinups.
Vargas, of course. Betty Page, an absolute icon. And then, even older photographs of women. From the 17th and 18th century. Large bush and soft bodies. So beautiful, I was enamored. Butts being paddled in muddied black and white. Rarely, but sometimes, a flirty look or even a smile.
There was something regal and classy about the photos. It felt like I shouldn’t be seeing them at all. These photos didn’t feel taken with an audience in mind.
It felt bad to look at them, like they belonged tucked away.
I can imagine young women going out to the forests with a charming man with a camera. I suppose that the same power comes from a willingness to participate in naughtiness and fun would have existed hundreds of years ago as it does now. A comfort with yourself and your own body. That’s the power of womanhood. That’s real divinity in my opinion.
The lighting always seemed natural. So bright. The settings were almost romantic. It wasn’t as rough and violent as pornography evolved to become in 2019. It contrasted sweetness against the modern disgust you can scour the internet to find these days when searching for pornography.
A mystical bush peaks from beneath a skirt, saying hello in the forest as she exchanges stories with a close friend. A cold naked bum sitting on the hood of one of the very first cars, smiling and looking brave. This is the kind of pornography I live for.
Well, headaches hurt. Mine hurt every day. Usually for a string of days. My headaches and pain are my go-to blame for every poor decision I’ve ever made. I’ve been feeling somewhat busy, despite no job or boss to report to for the first time in years. I’m still looking, of course. I hope to have some good news this week, but I hope for a lot of things. Many of them are still on a shelf. I am more than okay with the wait while I truly find a job I will love and can see myself at for many years into the future.
Another canvas is perched on my wall after I made some time to fill it in recently.
I haven’t had a good writing session with my keyboard in a few weeks, instead focusing on finding a career fit out here in Boise. Focusing on my baby, the blue eyed wonderful little baby. Trying to just feel better.
I should have done more research about what kind of income I could expect for my line of work because, man it is disappointing. Salaries out here are just all around lower. $12/ hourly wage for SEO work? It’s a solid reason why technology struggles to thrive here. Jobs don’t pay aggressively and it feels like a bad thing waiting to happen with all of the booming population growth.
We see it often enough, anyways. Mass migration, stagnant local wages, the only job growth is service industry to cater to the wealthy new residents living off of pensions or retirement funds.
My headaches all but subsided.
I’ve been paying attention to my Facebook memories after noticing just how many status updates I’ve written specifically about being in pain or having a migraine. I would really be curious about the actual numbers on posts per topic, it feels like my body is a prison made of discomfort.
I got one last sum of money and decided to order my own dress design off of my RedBubble store. The dress made from a large scale painting that someone had to destroy. Ripped up, burnt and tossed in a pile of rubbish outside. I wish he didn’t feel compelled to do that, but he did. And now, all I have is this .Jpg file stored on my laptop and external hard drive and redbubble server. All I have left out of the mess of acrylic paint and headaches that made up that painting.
Here’s my most recent painting. I’ll update the gallery soon with it, too! Happy belated memorial day.
Memories told me that 7 years ago today I posted “Each of my neurons have a migraine of their own.” to my Facebook page.
A similar sentiment could be true for any other day, too. My body feels like I haven’t slept in days, no matter how actually well rested I am. It’s some form of hell, exhaustion. Working through it has proved impossible. I took some time to try healing myself.I’m very tired. I haven’t painted, or done anything useful and depression has bested me for the first time since I was 24, right after my grandmother died. Maybe there’s a name for this.
So, if you haven’t read about this yet now you know: My dad is Billy Bongster. He’s an incredibly talented musician, songwriter, God fearing lover of marijuana. A total burnout, really. He’s Billy Bongster. He plays guitar and he smokes pot.
His music is a mix of blues and alternative rock guitar, and it’s wonderful. When I was young, my siblings and I were always were exposed to his guitar playing and various gigs. I remember HempAid 1999 in Michigan. All of the Bike Weeks at Daytona beach. All of the Hempfests in Tampa.
I’ll never forget this one time we were all out to eat at this Italian place that amounted to a doublewide trailer on U.S 19 in New Port Richey, Florida. The food wasn’t bad nor the service memorable, though the idea in retrospect is pretty entertaining.
I asked the server for marijuana sauce instead of marinara with my mozzarella sticks. I’d been confused about the two because I was a little kid and my dad had a marijuana festival he played at earlier that day.
Everyone laughed, the eggplant parmeseans that I assume most of us ate at the time had finally arrived and in my mind this was a good memory.
For a long time, my dad didn’t understand why the 3 of us (Daniel, my brother, and Allie our sister) were so into using the internet. He didn’t get social media on any level and made fun of us.
In the last 3 years or so I’ve really seen him BLOOM with it. He’s built himself a following of fans. It’s been quite impressive and I am a very proud daughter, as I’ve seen him come a long way with his life.
His initially silly and bizarre posts have become, old man shitposting territory, and yet I am proud that he’s able to do stuff like this.
Posting to Facebook pages and maintaining a website are necessary elements to success in this digital age we are living in. I’ve decid that I am going to design some tshirts for him to start selling on his website. As a creative myself, this feels like an opportunity to give back.
That’s who I decided was going to be hovering over the green mountains. A goddess. This latest painting is 42″x tall and I’m not sure I love it yet. Mountains are fine but I really dropped the ball on this beautiful woman figure and her rainbow melted face.
The current version is on the far right. Not politically, of course.
When I feel better about it, I’ll update the gallery as per usual. Until now, I wanted to post about it and get some feedback. I really want to focus more on anatomy. Its becoming obvious this was always a hobby/ outlet for me and not a craft I took seriously enough to practice.
I’ve been going through a lot of emotional changes and redirections and it’s been very stressful for me.
As I move around in my life adjusting to the comfort of my husband’s presence and the stress of my son’s, I have decided on new directions in my career.
Some things that I have truly cherished for the past 4 years are no longer compatible with my life as a mother and the respectful thing to do for us both is for me to find something that makes more sense.
This means a lot of tightening for the next few months while I work on establishing my next plan. I’m praying and touching my heart and trying to care about my own well being and doing more meaningful things with my time.
I want to truly believe an organization is doing something important. I don’t just want another paycheck. It’s become so stressful and I lack the foundation to be able to effectively sort through that sort of post acquisition startup stress. I’ve been absorbed into a large organization against my will and recognize that I don’t thrive in that one-hat sort of situation.
I’m an overseer. I need to solve this by myself, and not on company time. I’ve been reflecting a lot about my career while I paint lately, It’s been very therapeutic.
The skies are gray but in my eyes I see only tie-dye. A kaleidoscope of colors twisting into each other. It’s a what I’ve been occupying my time while while Boise spends a few days getting wet outside.
I heard thunder for the first time in two years. It was a magical gift from Boise after so many months of consecutive debilitating dryness.
The rainy weather has me feeling creative and it’s been bringing with it new flowers and greener grass.
I’ve been trying to set up a photoshoot with a Boise local photographer named Chad Estes but it hasn’t lined up with the chaotic schedule of my little one. Hopefully this week that can finally flesh out.
Recently, the baby boy and I went on an adventure up the mountains surrounding Boise. They were muddy as hell because of the weather so far. You know what they say, April showers bring May flowers. Here this rings especially true. We were listening to Hank Williams sing songs about God and despair and looked at how small everything was in proper context. In reality, he stayed in the car and I contemplated towards him in my mind. It was nice anyways.
Shane and I did tie dying and my dress turned out beautiful. I’m considering all kinds of new patterns and scenes of the universe I can easily create with fabric dye and anticipate a budding new hobby. After thinking about some new techniques, I am super excited to get more dye! I just need to try using a black t-shirt + bleach solution and I can hopefully create some celestial designs.
I had a tie-dye baby blanket as a little girl and so I dyed a blanked for my little one as well. It warms me to my core seeing him clutching it in his sleep.