Pinocchio ~ Effort and Grace April 30, 2008

As I am reading David Richo’s book “The Power of Coincidence”, I find this powerful paragraph that I want to share with others…

Every one of us is like Pinocchio in the Disney cartoon. We were not born real; it is something we have to achieve by effort and receive by grace. At first we think becoming real / healthy / whole means being dutiful: “Go to school and follow your conscience” — things we can control. Soon we find it takes more than that. We have to confront our dark side. We have to notice how we lie, how we look for a quick fix, how we still believe our addictions can content us in ice-cream land. Then we find out that we have to go into the belly of the whale, the depths of the unconscious, and be inventive enough to light a fire to help others live. Only then are we reborn from the dark, that is, spit out of the whale’s mouth.

Then and only then are we ready to become real, but we are still not real yet. We cannot achieve the final part of the transformation on our own. The Blue Fairy has to lean lovingly over the body of a broken boy, a disassembled, dissolved ego ready for rebirth. The Blue Fairy (feminine intervention) represents the grace that makes us whole. Effort (masculine power) was not enough, not even heroic effort. It takes the wand of grace to tap us in its own time for the process to be complete. The reality of liberation is achieved AND received.

We saw all this in the childhood cartoon. Now, in this paragraph. we see INTO it in a new way.

This too is synchronicity.

these MOMENTS April 25, 2008

Once in a While by Madeleine Peyroux

There ARE these moments

I wrote about “moments” in another post. And right this minute (now about 2 minutes ago) I had a moment I need to write about.

It is early in the morning (7:30am) and I have been up a while. After checking my emails and reading a few news articles I decided to get back to our “story”. Yes, a friend of mine who is to remain anonymous for now and I are writing a story together. He lives in Germany and we discovered that we have a similar style in writing and thinking. It started as a fun project to encourage each other to WRITE! It still is a fun project, but the story is taking on a life of its own. We have already managed 25 pages (small font, no double lines). The story goes all over the geographical and psychological/spiritual/emotional world. It is fun, it is challenging, it is always so exciting when the latest few paragraphs arrive in my inbox.

So this morning I decided to add my paragraphs. I have not touched it in a few days and had to reread the last page as well as return to previous pages that connect with these last ones. These words I was reading suddenly triggered a powerful feeling inside. I felt completely connected to my higher Self. It was a surprise, because honestly I have been feeling a bit lost lately…disconnected…confused…numb…and when I feel that way, I know that I am not able to connect with my creative / strong / confident / unique Self. I stopped reading. I just stared at the screen, but my vision was completely focused on a spot in the depth of my belly. I feel this feeling in spurts. It is like being in love. For lack of vocabulary, it is the closest description I can give.
It is a feeling that screams:
YES! and
IT IS POSSIBLE! and
IT IS REAL!

It is a feeling that splatters bright colors onto the grey wall. And then, outside my window, through the sounds of cars riding up and down this San Francisco hill, I hear what I gather as being the sound of a crow. Perhaps it is not a crow, but it it’s not a small bird. It is not a dove…it sounds like a larger bird. It doesn’t matter. The image in my mind is that of a crow. And there is a crow in our story. It is in a dream. It is white at first, and then it is black. And I hear a crow outside my window. I think it is a sign. I decide that it is a sign. Synchronicity. It is saying something to me.

When I was a little girl, I used to have this weird feeling inside of me that I never could really describe. It used to happen a lot. As I grew older it happened less and less. I’d be lying in bed (but sometimes it happened while I was up and about) not necessarily just before falling asleep. And suddenly a strong and very strange feeling would come over my entire body. I’ve never been much of a meditator, but I imagine that perhaps for people who meditate a lot, this might be a feeling they get after a while. Or perhaps even what it feels like when you are high. It was a wonderful feeling. It was a feeling that connected my mind and my body. My eyes were open, but my entire body was motionless and almost in a sort of trance. Sometimes this feeling lasted for a short time, sometimes for what felt like 5 minutes. In my inner vision I used to see opposite movement: fast and slow ~ large and minuscule ~ circular motions ~ it has always been very difficult for me to describe it. I was not dreaming, but it felt as though I was in a dream state.

Once, when I was a bit older, I tried really hard (during one of these episodes) to define it, to give it an image in order to describe it. The image that popped into my head was that of a womb in uterus. When I imagined that, somehow it felt right. It felt close. Of course, it also felt weird and overwhelming.

Now that I had perhaps found an image, I still didn’t know what it meant. And still today I don’t know what it meant. But today I know more about life and its mysteries. And somewhere deep inside of me I want to believe that this feeling was some sort of connection to something spiritual. Perhaps a connection with my True Self. Perhaps a memory of my past self. Perhaps a memory of my reincarnation (and I believe in reincarnation). I will never really know. And I haven’t felt that feeling in a very long time. I wish it came back because it was an amazingly beautiful feeling. It was so peaceful and I felt so completely connected.

But perhaps that feeling does come back, only in a different manner. Perhaps it is in those “moments” when I feel deeply “in love” with life, and when I feel hope and laughter and depth and creativity…perhaps these are the times when that something is trying to remind me of something I forgot. Something I once knew a long long long long time ago. Something we in essence all know, yet have forgotten.

And so…the moment has passed. But I feel good. It has inspired me to write these lines. And I am happy I did, because now I will always have these lines to read to remember THIS moment.

And so…I return to our story. And I try to bring what I just learned into our story.

Synchronicity April 21, 2008

I just started reading this book that I “happened to” find at the library yesterday. It is called “The Power of Coincidence” by David Richo.

This paragraph in the introduction already made me want to share here:

Most of us are quite aware of our limited powers and not so aware of our boundless potential. This potential is our true Self, an energy that is unconditionally and universally loving, discerning with the wisdom of the ages, and abundantly rich with healing power. When these sleeping powers are activated, we are acting in accord with the best in us. Our spiritual powers may, however, remain sleeping giants in our psyche and never display themselves in our actions. Then our destiny remains unfulfilled and a sense of something missing may pervade our life. Synchronicity comes along to wake us and fulfill us.

Synchronicity shows us that the world orchestrates some of our life events so they can harmonize with the requirements of our inner journey. This is reflected in the opening quotation by Shakespeare: “Such harmony is in immortal souls.” Synchronicities are unusual, unexpected, not constructed or controlled by the human ego. In this sense they are miracles of conjunction between ourselves and the events of the world. We cannot cause these kinds of miracles to occur, but we can greet them and grant them hospitality in the yet unopened rooms of our souls. Then the power of coincidence is respected and it opens us to many marvels.

I have though a lot about coincidences (or synchronicity) throughout my life. Whenever that word comes up I always say “there are no coincidences”. Many people say that. I truly believe it. I have a file on my computer called “synchronicity” where I write down such moments. Sometimes I try to figure out why something happened or happens. Why you meet certain people. Why certain people say certain things to you at a specific moment of your life. Sometimes it takes me years to figure it out. Sometimes I don’t ask myself that question. Perhaps because it is too painful to look at. Perhaps because it is just a good story that I like to remember. No lesson. Just a good moment.

I will keep reading this book. The subtitle is “How life shows us what we need to know”. Yeah. Many of us need this. I need this.

But I know myself. Supposed coincidences to me are like dreams. Just another tool of communication with your deepest self. The messages are there. The happenings occur. There are so many tools out there.

But do we listen to them? Do I hear them? Yes! Do I listen to them? Yes and no. Not enough. Especially right now in my life. It is there…on a silver platter.

greet them and grant them hospitality in the yet unopened rooms of our souls…

That, my friends…is the challenge. You can greet them. You can grant them hospitality…but take the next step and act upon them…THAT is the challenge.

En L’homme ~ by ETYL April 18, 2008

The other day a friend of mine sent me this song…never heard of this group called ETYL, but I really like this song:

(Je crois en l’homme = I believe in man)

Life is about Moments April 15, 2008

Wishful Thinking by The Album Leaf

Life is about moments. In our minds we see pictures. Sometimes still, sometimes moving. In our dreams the still and moving pictures mesh into each other ~ around and over each other. The demarcation lines fade away ~ they disappear. A body can swim in the air, a tidal wave can come crashing over you while you are watching it from a distance.

There are no rules ~ there is that other world we always wonder about. We wonder if it really truly exists. In our dreams the answer is a resounding “yes!”. Upon waking we slide back into the safety of a brick walled room we call “this world”.

I imagine a moment. Just before dying. I imagine the last exhale when I finally surrender to the truth. That it never was “another world” ~ that that other world always existed in me, always accompanied me. That it always peaked its head…in those very moments…of a still photo or a fleeting moving picture in my mind. And all I needed to do was open my eyes and notice it. See it. Welcome it. Acknowledge its existence. Embrace it and allow it to do its work. Guide me. Lead me. Carry me back to the raw dirt of my existence. Side by side with every other moment of every other being’s own personal and universal existence.

I wish for my eyes to open up and see it. Always. Now. Not then.

Bridging the Tourist/Artist Gap — Your Suggestions Wanted April 14, 2008

The following is written by Eric Maisel, author and creativity coach, who lives in San Francisco. I have read his book “A Writer’s San Francisco” and have the good intention to read more of his books when I get through the endless other books that I plan to read and finish reading.
I have subscribed to his newsletter and will be contributing to a blog he is creating called ” A Purpose-Centered Life”. In yesterday’s newsletter, he asks his readers to give him suggestions about a topic he is thinking about, writing about and will be speaking about at conferences. The topic is very interesting to me and I intend to put my thinking cap on and see what I can come up with. In the meantime, I thought it would be good to share this with all you creative types, artists and well, tourists too (which we all are, usually at least once a year). I think the idea of bridging that gap is a good one. Living in a very creative city like San Francisco and having worked with tourists for years, i love the idea of finding a way to narrow the divide between local artists and tourists / visitors.

So, read the following text and if you have any comments, you can either put them here (and with your permission I can forward them on to Eric Maisel), or you can email him directly at ericmaisel@hotmail.com

Hello, everybody:

At the end of this newsletter I’ll be asking for your suggestions. I hope that you’ll consider my questions and send along your thoughts. I think that every creative person has a stake in the subject I’m chatting about today: it relates to the rent you pay for your apartment and your studio and your ability to pay that rent, the relationships you fashion with your audience, your ability to create meaningful experiences that help reduce your sense of separation and alienation from the mass culture, and other issues having to do with the way we are each embedded in specific cultures and live in specific places.

I’ve been learning a new language as I immerse myself in the areas of “creative tourism” and “creative cities,” in preparation for a plenary talk I’ll be delivering at the Santa Fe International Conference on Creative Tourism, which runs from September 28 to October 2. (I’ll also be giving a “Creativity for Life” chat at the conference). Although the website for the conference isn’t up yet, you can learn more about the conference and its sponsorship HERE

I’ve long been interested in the dynamic relationships between place and the creative life and I’ve described some of these dynamics in essays like “Privilege and the Place Vendome” and “Demographics” in my books A Writer’s Paris and A Writer’s San Francisco. What, for example, if you find yourself living in a flag-waving, church-on-every- corner, shop-at-Walmart town that is indifferent to the creative spirit or actively antagonistic to it? What if you happen to reside in a large city where the concentration of wealth produces cultural institutions like museums and symphonies but, because of these same capitalist forces, generates rents that you can’t afford and jobs that only support mega-commerce and mega-tourism? You can be an investment banker or a waiter there, but can you be an artist? These realities matter, psychologically and practically, in the lives of creative folk.

One of these dynamic (and difficult) relationships is the relationship between the tourist, who may be attracted to a place because of its cultural reputation, and the artist who lives in that place (or very near that place, as the rents in-town are probably prohibitive) and creates the culture. The artist, for his part, likely feels scorn for the tourist who travels in what Erik Cohen has dubbed an “environmental bubble” and who eats well, buys souvenirs, cranes his neck, and displays no real feeling for the culture around him. The tourist avoids the artist; the artist avoids the tourist (except when, as part of a sales interaction, he must smile and nod and agree that the customer is right); and the distance between the two is carefully maintained on each side.

In the tourism industry, the places where some of these questions are beginning to be addressed (or ought to be addressed) are in the areas of “cultural tourism” and “creative tourism.” Cultural tourism is an umbrella idea that includes all of the following: attracting visitors to a place because of “grand” cultural attractions like famous art museums or symphony orchestras; attracting visitors because of a place’s “cultural mosaic” of art galleries or live music venues; or attracting visitors with the lure of experiencing a particular “culture,” whether it’s “natives in native dress” or the “Italian culture” of an old-line Italian neighborhood with its delis and cafés.

Creative tourism, by contrast, is described in a Wickopedia entry as follows: “Creative tourism has existed as a form of cultural tourism since the early beginnings of tourism itself. More recently, creative tourism has been given its own name by Crispin Raymond and Greg Richards. They have defined ‘creative tourism’ as tourism related to the active participation of travelers in the culture of the host community, through interactive workshops and informal learning experiences. Meanwhile, the concept of creative tourism has been picked up by high-profile organizations such as UNESCO, who through the Creative Cities Network have endorsed creative tourism as an engaged, authentic experience that promotes an active understanding of the specific cultural features of a place.”

To put it simply, when you visit a gallery, you are a cultural tourist; when you take a workshop from the artist himself or herself, you are a creative tourist. I think that it would be wonderful if we moved this last idea from its narrow version of the occasional tourist taking the occasional local workshop to the broader idea of how tourists can be encouraged to change their internal story about why they are traveling, helping them to add “meaning” to the usual litany of restaurants, shopping, and golf; and how artists can be encouraged to change their internal story about the necessity of keeping tourists at arm’s length. I am thinking that it might be useful to call this rewriting of the internal stories of tourists, artists, and locals “narrative tourism”: the effort to change the relationship between visitor and local (including local artist) by helping all concerned rewrite their internal stories about what travel means.

The typical artist forms no particular connection with the tourists who visit his or her city and the typical tourist forms no connection with the artists who live in the city he or she visits. The main reasons for this are three-fold: the “mass tourist” (usually divided into the categories of “individual mass tourist,” the tourist who makes his or her own arrangements, and the “organized mass tourist,” who takes a packaged tour) is not fundamentally interested in creativity and culture; the artist has no models or instructions about how to engage with tourists in meaningful ways (on in any way); and tourism stakeholders (city, state and national governments with their convention bureaus, visitors bureaus, and arts commissions, international agencies like UNESCO, non-profit tourism research organizations, hotel chains and restaurant chains, etc.) spend their time, energy, and money elsewhere.

Bridging the gap (or gulf) between local artist and out-of-town visitor necessarily makes a place more creative, more human, and more humane for tourist, artist, and resident alike. It also reduces the tension between local residents who feel “on display” and tourists who descend to “use the facilities.” When tourists visit a museum, they do nothing to bridge this gap; when, by contrast, they go out of their way to attend a lecture at a local Laundromat or watch a filmmaker’s movie projected onto a schoolyard wall, as they can do in my San Francisco neighborhood of Bernal Heights, both they and the artists involved are enriched.

Tourists and artists alike need considerable help in bridging this gap. A local writer, actor, painter, musician or craftsperson is unlikely to consider inviting tourists to join her in some interactive experience; by the same token, tourists are unlikely to seek out such opportunities even if they existed. Artists need help in conceptualizing such possibilities and help in enacting them; tourists need help in creating the inner narrative that permits them to feel comfortable “doing something creative”, “mingling with artists”, and moving their vacation in more existential, experimental, and experiential directions.

The realities of both constituencies— the tourist arriving as consumer and observer, looking mainly for diversion and recreation, the artist marginalized and struggling, isolated in his own community—militate against this gap narrowing. One of the great opportunities of the creative tourism movement is to promote strategies that change this dynamic and bridge this gap, producing more meaningful experiences for visitors, new social and marketing opportunities for artists, and a more genuinely creative place for everyone. I have certain strategies in mind that might help in bridging this gap and I want to present them to you over the next few weeks. But first I would love to hear from you.

1. What, in your opinion, might help bridge the tourist/artist gap? What are your thoughts?

2. What have others tried to bridge this gap? Do you have any stories?

3. Have you tried to personally to bridge this gap? If so, what were the results and what did you learn?

I look forward to your thoughts. Please send them along to me at ericmaisel@hotmail. com

Have an excellent Sunday!

Best,

Eric

ericmaisel@hotmail. com
ericmaisel@sbcgloba l.net

Bon Anniversaire Maman! April 12, 2008

Today is my mother’s birthday. She’s in Germany with the rest of my family. I am here in San Francisco and can’t be there when the whole family is celebrating her birthday at an Italian restaurant and then at my brother’s house. But we talk so often on the phone, that I always feel like I am right there with them.

No, I don’t want to get all sappy, but today is her day and I want to tell you a bit about my mother. Eliane was born in Paris, France. She was one of 11 children. At that time they were called “famille nombreuse” (family with many children). Her mother’s background is an interesting one too (born in Algeria to Jewish parents ~ she converted though when she married my grandfather and my mother always told us that my grandmother became “more catholic than the Pope” ~ that’s pretty funny!), but she was a pretty typical French housewife who had LOTS of children. A good woman, strict, but good. My grandfather, according to my mother, was a really kind, hard-working man. Everyone loved him.

When I look at pictures of my mother when she was a little girl I am always impressed by her ‘feistiness”, which I can see in her stance, her look…just the way she held herself. She says that she was always a happy girl, a bit of a tomboy, that everywhere she went people would say “here comes sunshine”. Even though her family was not rich, they had what they needed. And they had each other. The girls shared clothes, they only had one pair of shoes, they had a brother who was mentally disabled and everyone took care of him, there was always food on the table. My grandparents always made sure of that.

During WWII they left Paris and lived in the countryside for a while (la campagne) in a village called Amboise (about 2 hours from Paris). It was not easy there, but she has fond memories of that time.

When the war ended and they returned to Paris, my mother met my father at a dance hall called “Salle Cadet”. I have written about this in a previous post here. They fell in love instantly. When my mother tells me this story, I am always amazed at the similarities with her when I was a teenager. My mother was not allowed to go dancing (she was 17) let alone go meet a boy she liked. So she and her sister would lie to their parents and tell them that they were going to the movies instead. That seemed to be allowed. I did the exact same thing when I was 17! (my mother knew, my father didn’t). Eventually she brought my father home to meet the parents. They immediately liked him. Since my grandmother had been raised Jewish, she enjoyed talking about Jewish traditions with my father. The relationship lasted for less than a year and my father (and his brother) finally received their visa to immigrate to the United States. I know that these were mixed feelings for my father. He was happy to finally get what they had waited for for years, but now he had this girl here that he loved and didn’t want to leave behind.

He did leave her behind and left for New York with a torn heart. That was to be the end of their love. They thought they would never see each other again. To make a long story short, he couldn’t forget her and with the help of his then boss, he was able to get my mother to come legally to the United States so he could marry her.

Now here’s where I look at my mother and am amazed. Remember, this was back in 1949. She was 19 years old. She had never left Paris (except for the time during the war) and knew nothing else but her little life in her arrondissement (sections of Paris are divided into arrondissements). She did not get on a plane or boat with her parents, her family or even a sister. She decided (with the blessing of her parents) to travel by boat, alone, without knowing the language…really to an unknown destination. This place called New York where this man that she loved but hadn’t seen in about a year was supposed to wait for her and marry her. She tells me that the closer she got to New York the more scared she was because “what if he wasn’t there when I get there?”.

Well, he was there. And they were happy to see each other. And they got married. And they lived in New York and Connecticut for 14 years. And they had 3 boys. And then they moved to Germany and had a daughter (me). To this day they still live in Germany. They have been married for 58 years.

My mother is still the sunshine that people called her when she was a child. My mother has always been the rock of the family. She is unassuming, always looks after others, always places others first. This is what I grew up with. The love that my mother gave me and all of us can not be put into words. We are who we are because of her. (ok, you too Papa, but it’s not your birthday today! hahaha). She taught us manners. She gave us the sense of family. She gave us school lunches EVERY single day of our school days. She cooked breakfast, lunch and dinner for us EVERY single day of the time that we lived at home. She picked me up at ballet lessons. She always gave us that warm feeling of home and when we were sick, we were always happy to be able to stay at home with maman. Lest you think that she was our slave, no, she was our mother. She did everything with love. She also disciplined us and made sure that we knew right from wrong. Everybody loves my mother. Everybody.

And today, Maman, c’est a moi et a ton mari et a tes fils et tes petits fils et fllles de te dire combien nous t’aimons.

Ce n’est pas toujours possible d’exprimer combien on aime quelqu’un avec des mots. Mais je ne me fais pas trop de mauvais sang pour ca. Notre famille n’a jamais été une de ses familles qui dis “I love you”…mais nous le montrons tous les jours avec nos actions et notre engagement. Depuis toujours. Nous le savons tous. Tu le sais.

Bon anniversaire, chère maman! I will be home very soon and we’ll go downtown and we’ll just spend time together as we always do.

I miss you. I love you. I am happy that you have always been my maman and always will be.

Je t’aime,
ta fille.

Kevin Johansen ~ Desde Que Te Perdi (since I lost you) April 12, 2008

I just like this song…have a few of his CDs. Here’s a little intro about him on his website:

Kevin was born in Alaska (in Fairbanks to be exact), but grew up in Argentina since the age of 12. Born of Argentine mother and American father, Kevin became part of the local rock scene with his argentine band “Instrucción Civica” (“Obediencia Debida”, recorded in 1985, won gold album in Peru). On October 12, 1990, he left to “rediscover” the North America of his childhood. Kevin felt right at home in the big apple, where he settled for almost ten years, with its mixture of cultures and cosmopolitan flair. As he often likes to say, “New York is not the United States”. Shortly after his arrival, he met Hilly Krystol, owner of CBGB’s, who invited him to participate in his future record label. During the ´90s he recorded and played at CBGB’s as a house band, performing every Saturday night. He also played in the Knitting Factory and the Mercury Lounge, among others. In 2000, Kevin decided to return to Buenos Aires, where he settled once again.

….read more

thinking about creativity April 11, 2008

(first of all, I know I have written about this topic before…and I am being way too lazy to research…so I am probably repeating myself here. But if I can’t quite remember it and am too lazy to look back, I am sure you, the reader, will do the same…so, sorry for the possible repetition)

In the last few days I have been thinking a lot about creativity / art. What is creativity? I guess the simple/short answer is: whatever you do is creativity. Creativity is found everywhere. Art, business, life…The more creative = the more unique. The more unique…brings up more questions. What is “unique”? How does one reach “uniqueness”?

I think I am creative, but sometimes I also think I am lazy. After observing myself for all these years, I find that my creativity is very spontaneous and comes and goes. For instance, right now I am again more into photography. At other times I get back into creative writing mode. And then I might get a burst of energy and make jewelry, or cards, or something brand new. This process (and cycle) has been going on for years now. I never stick to ONE THING and usually my cycles last anywhere from 3 days to 6 months. I find that taking photos is probably my favorite creative outlet because I always have my camera with me.

And then I think about talent / skill. This morning I emailed a fellow flickr photographer Thomas Hawk and asked him how he got to where he is. I LOVE his photography! Not only because of his style, but because he likes to document. And taking photos for me is mostly about documenting. I didn’t read his profile in details but I guess he has been doing this for many years and is probably trained as a designer / photographer / whatever else. It makes me want to strive to be a better photographer. But somewhere in my psyche, I still don’t take myself seriously as an “artist”. I have a mental block about getting a proper education in any of these fields. Why? I guess I am afraid. Afraid that I will not like the class(es) and will drop it just like I dropped others in the past. Then I wonder why I drop classes. Expectations are too high? Disappointed? Impatient? Lazy to do the hard work? Afraid that I will miss out on other “passions” I have?

Like I wrote before, I am spontaneous. My creativity and passion comes and goes. When it comes I am completely dedicated and committed. Once it goes, that’s it. Coldness sweeps in and I drop it without a second thought. I guess I hate that about myself, but then I think I shouldn’t because perhaps that is also my strength. Like right now, I don’t think I can write one really creative sentence…and yet when I am in my creative writing mode I can come out with some pretty good stuff (at least to myself).

And so I struggle. Again. Always. It is a constant battle in my heart and mind. I think I don’t need classes. I am self taught. I know more than many people because I took the time to read books and learn on the net and learn by just doing it. Will I always be a Jill of all trades, master of none? Or do I need to bite the bullet and take those damn classes! Aren’t there TONS of artists out there who are completely self taught?

The other day I watched the “Lord of the Rings” trilogy for the first time (yeah, I know…I just didn’t get into it when they came out…sorry!) and I love the character of Gollum / Smeagol…the conversations between his “good” and “bad” sides reminds me so much of my constant back and forth between my “strong” and “weak” personalities. I myself have written down these conversations. I always tell myself that I have got to allow my stronger side to be right more often. But it is a struggle and requires a lot more therapy sessions! (hahaha)

I guess the bottom line is that I am insecure. I certainly don’t come across as insecure, but the reason I say this is because I seem to be too afraid to cross the line. I stay where it is safe. I don’t try to challenge myself and put myself out there. I don’t take risks. I don’t accept that I am “only” self-taught but that I have just as much a right to own my creativity. The other day a friend of mine told me I should sell some of my stuff. If what was going on inside of me could have been shown on screen, you would have seen me running a million miles a minute to a dark corner, covering my face yelling ” no! no! I am not deserving!!” So perhaps what I really need to work on is to own up to the fact that being self taught doesn’t mean you are any worse or less than all these educated people out there.

So pathetic!!!

and there you go…that’s what I have been thinking about in the last days. Don’t worry, I may be insecure and think I am not deserving…but one thing I am is very stubborn…and somewhere deep inside there is a loud voice screaming quietly: don’t give up!!!!!

San Francisco Olympic Torch Relay ~ April 09, 2008 April 10, 2008

I was there a little after 9am equipped with my camera and camcorder. I spent the entire day there (till about 4:30pm)…watched, listened, took over 300 pictures. At one point I just said to someone standing next to me: wasn’t there something about a torch? I had almost forgotten why people had come to the Embarcadero.

It was the perfect stage for the Tibet protesters. Even though they were protesting the Olympics being held in China, this was THE opportunity for them to be heard. And they were heard. It was amazing how organized they were, how many there were and how peaceful (relatively, at least where I was) the entire event went. Yes, there was a lot of yelling, some poking and shoving (but that happens every day when you get on the MUNI during rush hour)…and LOTS of people with cameras running around trying to get the best shot.

And then we waited. And waited. I had a great little spot, front row, right in front of police officers trying to keep things in control. And we waited and waited. Nothing happened. Rumors ran fast that the torch had been rerouted. Rumors turned to reality. Yes, everybody had been fooled and it was spotted on Van Ness Avenue. When no one was yet 100% sure, I placed myself right next to a cop and a journalist from the SF Chronicle who was on his cell phone trying to find out what was going on. Even he couldn’t get an answer. The cops of course were polite and kept saying: we have no idea where the torch is. It was actually pretty funny watching one person after another walk up to the police asking “where’s the torch?”.

I get a call from my husband who happened to be close to Van Ness Avenue (he was working, trying to cross Van Ness with his truck) JUST WHEN THE TORCH passed by. He got to see it! I thought that was the funniest moment of my day. So good for all those people who happened to be on Van Ness, at the Marina, at Crissy Field…they got to see it. Oh well. I won’t lose sleep over it. I still got lots of good pictures and a better understanding of yet another complicated world conflict. Tibet / China

I also learned once again that I am not a protester. I am a documenter. I will listen. I will observe. I will learn what I can. But the human condition to me is an ongoing mystery and when I am at an event like yesterday, I leave with more questions in my mind. What I always find fascinating is how hard it is for people to put themselves in other people’s shoes.  I think if people could do THAT, there would not be as many problems in the world as there are today and always were. When will we ever learn!?

To see the pictures I took, go to my flickr page here: Olympic Torch Relay / Protests ~ April 09, 2008