Building a life out here in Boise, Idaho

Boise, Idaho, motherhood, photography, photos, Posts tagged as "artists" from the blog

I wanted to share some photos from my life over the last few months. I wanted to share the cute smirk and look on my son’s little baby face. We’ve gone on a lot of adventures together, make some art, taken many walks, laughed together, switched baby watching time so we could get breaks every day, and built a lot of memories. I started growing plants on the porch again, and even have some house plants!

I still take photos of all of the dead birds in the summer, and drive for a long time to see the huge mountains surrounding the valley. My husband and son are the sweetest people in the world. I am adapting to a role with a new company that is growing and has a lot of potential and great things happening.

I feel like every week the average temperature is dropping 2 degrees and its so exciting. That is one thing I do love about Boise, the seasons break up the year. It’s not as consistent every day, but it’s a nice thing to experience a white winter, a colorful fall and everything in between.

My best friends are coming this fall and we’re going to see the fall leaves in Logan, Utah 4 hours south of Boise. We’ll drive through those flame-colored mountains and feel the earthy breeze dance through the car.

I hope we can say hello to a few big animals and take some beautiful photos and build nice memories with our short trip!

I am glad that for the last two years they managed to come to Boise and spend time with me! It’s officially a tradition in my book. Each time, we will briefly explore a new area together. Last summer, we all went through Oregon to the coastal town of Newport and down the coast a ways. Every scenic stop was a different kind of breathtaking.

It will be so good for my soul, which feels weathered by the year. My plants can only do so much. I have missed my friends. <3

It’s not my problem, so why do I always try to solve it?

home, Pasco County, Florida

The situation is I am in is more or less recurring. I feel obligated to help. Financially help. Various family members. Maybe there’s an ask, sometimes there’s guilt with a wall of purpose. It comes in different shapes and forms and manipulates my emotions. Who knows why it really keeps recurring. I’m a very big empath when it comes to certain people or situations and it is to a fault. My fault.

I think that God gives me the ability to do these things, but it always sets me away from my goals. I feel bad about not meeting them and being able to save more money. With a child and a family, it’s more important to me than ever to be able to set money aside.

I often find articles on the internet that discuss how 40% of American adults cannot cover a $400 emergency expense. I am quite grateful to be in the 60% that can.

When I was younger, I made a lot of financial mistakes but I have been trying to rectify them since my mid-twenties. A baby is not a cheap thing, but we cut costs by using cloth diapers and buying clothes lightly used from local trade groups.

We now have credit cards with a $0 balance, over one thousand dollars saved in a high yield savings account and a total debt of about $10,000 that I am trying to tackle.

As an artist and working mom working in tech, this feels impossible.

Life is hard. How do you deal with the guilt of success? Are you obligated to financially help your family? Will I ever be able to buy a home for my family? Is life in America worth pursuing? Will it get easier? I miss gardening and having a screened-in painting area. I miss having a table made of cement blocks with morning glories growing out of them. I miss waking up early enough to see the sun rise and going on walks every day.

I had a good cry the other day at lunch. Now I feel better, and ready to ride the waves of the universal ocean.

This is August, 2019.

I am just a cloud in the sky. I am just a passerby

Boise, Idaho, Posts tagged as "artists" from the blog, traveling, writing

That’s the tune I sing in my own head while I grocery shop with my family. We are calling out to each-other in the aisles like lost animals. Circling the entire store multiple times on our weekly hunt. Vegetables. Meat. Soups and cereal. We forgot cheese.

It’s a nice song by lusine, but I change the words around a little bit in my version. It sort of narratives how out of the way I try to be while existing around other people (in public mostly).

Shane has been painting more than I have been lately, it’s inspiring. I am so grateful for his presence in my life. He is always curious about something different, and always laughing and just being a grounding force in my world.

The one he is working on and most of the women he paint often have pretty spooky, masculine shaped faces and exaggerated curves. This piece has beautiful sunset colors, too so it’s an interesting dynamic.

It’s August and soon it will be September and soon we will both grow another year older.

The hot Boise summer is almost over. I’ll drink even more coffee than I do now. With added whipped cream, pumpkin creamer, and chocolate shavings dispersed on top. I am ready for everything the fall has to offer me this year. From the cooler breezes and crumbs of humidity to the tease of rain and still rare sound of thunder. Myself and my husbands birthdays is always an exciting time, but the most exciting of all is that I get to see two of the best friends I have in this universe.

I cannot wait to see Evelyn and Holly and make interesting art with them and introduce them to this tiny human I made. Holly got to touch my belly when we were sitting in the back seat of my car, driving through Oregon on a quest to see the Pacific Ocean with them while they were up here.

It was bulging and she felt him kick just once. I was 7 months pregnant, sweating through the summer in record Boise heat. They are coming closer to the fall this time and we are going to drive through Idaho southeast into Logan Canyon in Utah.

In mid September, I anticipate a gorgeous display of leaves changing along the mountains. I’ve actually never been, but I looked up drone footage and shared them in our group chat.

Time has been going by so fast, and the year is closing in on me already. I’ll be 30 soon and shortly after that I’ll hold my one year old up in the air, with his silly grin pulled from ear to ear.

I am looking forward to everything the future has in store for me, and grateful for the things the past has afforded me. And, of course, sharing them with you.

Until next Sunday,

Camille

Idaho State Penitentiary- The Wes Anderson style prison

photography, photos, Posts tagged as "artists" from the blog

Shane and I went out that way this weekend because our son was spontaneously with his grandma for a few hours and it was awesome! This place was supposed to be haunted and was just a short trip to the other side of Boise. The penitentiary was home to some classic western America criminals and throughout the century of its operation, was the last place 100+ people were alive.

When we got there, it was opposite the botanical gardens which also contained the penitentiary cemetery. A lot of flowers, how delightful!

The cells themselves were all unique and appeared to be ruins with previously pastel colored walls. They easily could be mistaken for sets from a Wes Anderson film.

When you look from afar, the blues and pinks and orange peeling from the cell walls was heavily contrasted with the typical prison bars and monochromatic, dirty penitentiary hallways.

A part of me is busy thinking about the novel One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest that I read as a high schooler. This is where that story took place, all across America. Places like this. 110 individuals died here. Some of old age and other natural causes. Many others died in the gallows, sentences to death here in Boise, Idaho.

No ghosts, but plenty of style. This was a neat spot to visit if you are ever in the Boise, Idaho area. It’s also right across the street from a beautiful botanical garden. Make sure to bring a small bottle of water, the penitentiary can be very hot in the summer.

I’ve slapped so much color on that thing that it might give anyone else a headache

art, art, photos

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.

dont mind the junk

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. 🙂

Moving with the sun

Boise, Idaho, motherhood, photography, Posts tagged as "artists" from the blog

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.

Stolen Indigenous Land

Boise, Idaho, writing

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.

Stolen Indigenous Land in Eastern Oregon

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.

Coffee at 4:00 pm on a Saturday evening

Posts tagged as "artists" from the blog, writing

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 🙂

Vintage Pornography- Parisian Prostitutes

photography, writing

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.