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Hello World. It’s Monday and in a few minutes I’m off on my morning walk.

Last night while watching “Oprah Builds a Network” (a behind the scenes of her as CEO of OWN) she said something that struck a nerve. In struggling with the network, she said something to the effect “that at some point everyone is taken down from the mountaintop.” She was referring to not being on top of the game, yet being able to see the beauty of another mountaintop. I immediately saw how this applied to my own journey in life. Life for the past couple of months has not been easy; emotionally/ spiritually it’s been the hardest I’ve had to live with.

Now, I can see that I’ve needed to come down from my own mountaintop. And though the valley has been quite low, I can now climb another mountain, with a different view, a different journey. I see how hearing these words will help in the transition. By the grace of God, we are given everything we can handle. By the grace of God, we are given an opportunity to live life. I’m breathing today and that is enough. I can start climbing again.

The piece here is titled, “ By The Grace of God.” Grace Jones and a crucifix inspire it. The old proverb goes, “There but for the grace of God go I.” I like to say, “There for the grace of God go I.” In simply removing the ‘but’ from the sentence, the entire meaning is changed. It’s a reminder to see myself in everyone and everything. It doesn’t always happen so easily, but if definitely makes life easier when I do.

Have a beautiful week ahead.

If weekends could fly, then this past one was like an eagle; it’s long gone.

I’m just coming back from my morning walk, what a beautiful sunny day in LA.

During the 80’s music was a great big part of my life; in many ways, it defined me. Or rather, I defined myself accordingly. And so I find it interesting that, nowadays, music is nonexistent in my everyday life. It was also during this time that I lost my faith in God. The Catholic God that I had grown up with was no longer a part of my life. I stopped going to church; there were too many unanswered questions and 'questionable' priests.

I don’t remember why, but recently, I found myself watching videos of Billy Idol. I was searching for the specific one that had him taking a shower. I found it; it’s “Catch My Fall.” He still looks beautiful! I used to masturbate to it every time it came on; it was the 80s, my teen years. It’s weird to have found it and to see it after all these years. But while watching it, the idea to do another “LITTLE Jesus” series came to mind. Thank you God for inspiration. This series is called “Losing My Religion,” appropriately titled from R.E.M.’s hit song by the same name.

This past week, I started the series. The piece here is titled “Idol Worship.” Billy Idol inspires it! This series is mostly digitally enhanced with very little drawing. I’m taking iconic images from the 80’s bands that shaped my life, adding a crucifix and a word over them. It’s symbolic of a time in life when music, religion, and sexuality intermixed. Viola!

Thankfully, after all these years, God is still a great part of my life. I’ve learned to think of God as an amazing source of energy that surrounds me everywhere I go. The more I see him, the more beautiful life becomes. As the lyrics in Billy’s Catch My Fall, I’d like to think that “If I should stumble, (God will) catch my fall."

Thank you for listening. Peace Out.

Ah, it’s Friday!

But the way life has been happening, days don’t seem to make a difference, other than I get to look forward to a day off tomorrow.

It’s now been a years since I started my “LITTLE” series. It seems like so long ago. Though I still have plenty of ideas for my Fisher Price Little People, I haven’t taken a photo of them in months. Having them in my life to play with this past year has been beautiful. I found myself laughing and smiling quite a bit.

Since I’m finishing up a second book about Divine, the piece here is “Shooting Flamingoes.” I’m thinking about remaking it as I think that LITTLE Divine can be done better. I’m also thinking about doing a LITTLE Grace Jones from the cult 80’s movie Vamp. The image of her in Keith Haring body paint has always remained in my head; it’s striking and beautiful.

Ralph Waldo Emerson said, “Beauty without grace is the hook without bait.” At this time in life, I can use a little joy, a little peace, and a little grace. I realize, I posted something similar about 2 weeks ago, but this idea about grace is something for me to seriously think about. Luckily, through this darkness, I've been able to see signs from God.

Have a greatceful weekend.

It’s a gloomy Monday morning and I’m watching a little Wimbledon.

Though I can see a little light at the end of the tunnel, life still feels dark. ☹ And as I wonder about everything getting back to normal, I realize that I don’t want it to. Life needs to be different. I want to live from a different place. More than before, I want to feel alive, joyful and vulnerable.

Two weeks ago on Tuesday night I had a little bright light in my life. Mr. Blacks in Hollywood paid tribute to Keith Haring. Funny how life works out; I had just finished reading Keith’s biography. I had an amazing and most memorable evening. I wore a long sleeve black dress shirt and took oil markers with me. I wanted to get ‘tagged.’ It took me out of my comfort level and I got to talk with many different people. It was beautiful. The image here is a photo of Ernie tagging my shirt. It’s a sort of collaborative piece; it's a shirt I will keep forever. Thank you Luke Nero and Ernie Omega for being such great hosts.

In the last couple of months, my art has somewhat regressed to my Keith Haring days, but it’s different this time around. It’s not me trying to imitate; it’s my own vision. It feels real and honest. It’s like I get to play again without limitations. I can use a little play and joy in my life right now. Confucius said, “It’s better to play than do nothing.” Though sometimes I love doing nothing, I want life to feel like a giant playground and I want to play for as long as I can.

Cheerios!

It’s a beautiful Monday morning and after a few days off from work, I’m feeling much better, lighter. On Friday, instead of blogging I chose to hike in Griffith Park with my cousin David. I needed a little break from writing and some quiet time for my soul. Maybe a little divine grace.

Over the weekend, I also finished reading Divine’s biography, written by his mom. I didn’t come across any startling information, but I loved that his mom wrote a book about her very unique son; her love and openness is remarkable! Thank you Frances Milstead, I think you’re amazing for writing this book about your son, he's inspired so many for generations to come.

I first came across Divine, a.k.a. Harris Glenn Milstead, a few months after arriving on the Berkeley campus. The University Theater, a few blocks form school, played cult movies and at the time held the longest midnight showing of the Rocky Horror Picture show. Unknowing what to expect, (but I new it had a single X-rating), I watched Pink Flamingoes. Somehow, the the 'filthy' storyline and characters planted a seed that anything and everything goes. Though I was a somewhat naïve-East-LA-Mexican-soon-to-come-out-of-the-closet-gay-boy, they were right up my alley. Pink Falmingoes remains to be the raunchiest movie I've ever seen.

My ex, John. was lucky enough to drive Divine before he passed away. John says he was quiet and shy except for this one time:

…the first time I met him he was doing a show at the I-Beam, he had his manager with him and a call boy. They all were well behaved. I remember his big song was “Shoot your Shot” not the best lip-synched performance.

The other time I drove him was like a year later for… I believe (not sure) a New Years Eve party at the Gift Center. He had same call boy with him. He was shaved head except when he had his wigs on for the shows. He was really so quiet all the time. Up until that nightmare ride to his hotel: On way to his hotel the call boy started peeing on Divine at the same time I started yelling NO not in the limo…. put that dick away Goddamit!! Divine told me just the drive the limo and quit being so nosey…and mind my own freaking business …at which point he started screaming… “Mountain Dew slut boy, Where is my MOUNTAIN DEW… If I wanted 7-fukin up …shit…

Speaking of John’s about a year later, I saw John Waters give a lecture on campus. Looking back I think of myself as fortunate. How amazing! I sat front row in a small lecture hall; it’s around the same time I got to see Nobel Prize Laureate Toni Morrison speak soon after writing Beloved. Though I don’t remember much about John or Toni, knowing that I saw them speak in small classroom environments brings a smile to my face. I’d like to think that I was informed and inspired to be who I am now.

The piece here is titled “Jesus Divine Grace.” It’s one of my latest Jesus’ pieces inspired by Divine and Grace Jones. They both remain to be great sources of inspiration. Aside from not writing this weekend, I also took a break from painting. But interestingly enough, imagination still happens; I feel blessed.

As life continues to unfold, I remind myself that it’s OK to be different. I wouldn’t have it any other way. Elijah Woods feels the same way, “I think being different, going against the grain of society is the greatest thing in the world."

Have a beauty of a week; be different, live differently.

After a dark couple of weeks, on this Monday life feels a little better.

In thinking about this darkness, I wondered if maybe God is missing? I don’t think of God as an entity, but rather a source of energy, of love. And so if this is the case, I wonder is love missing and in what way? Have I strayed too far? If God/Love exists everywhere, then why would I think it missing? Have I built a wall so high that I can’t see it or feel it?

A-ha! I’m starting to see a little light.

On my walk early yesterday morning, I was thinking about feeling broken. But as I reflected on this idea of being broken, I realized that my spirit wasn’t fully broken. It just had a big crack and I needed some ‘crazy’ glue to mend it. But upon deeper inspection, I thought, maybe it’s not my spirit breaking but rather an outer wall I’ve put up to protect me, to keep me from feeling, from hurting, and loving. And so instead of crazy glue, I thought, maybe I need a little hammer to break it down completely to release the floodgates and be free. I think this is it. This wall, as my brother pointed out, is not just a regular emotional brick, but rather it’s my ego. Is it possible that my ego is dying? In referring to the ego, Deepak Chopra writes, “What (the ego) promises as a completely fulfilling life is an illusion… When you become aware of this defect, the result is fatal for the ego.”

Interesting that instead of any ‘tools’ a mere awareness of the ego does wonder for our spirits. It’s in this simple act of awareness, that we free ourselves from illusion. We return to our ever changing spirit, our soul, God, and love. Unfortunately, in the last couple of days, I had been unable to see this. But here I am now in full awareness.

The piece here is titled “Jesus Caution.” Thanks to a couple of days off this weekend, I finished this piece along with a few others. I was able to work on my art, to sit still, and to reflect. When starting new jobs, relationships, or anything new, we often hear the phrase, ‘proceed with caution.’ But what if, rather than proceeding with caution, we went out into the world with open arms. It may not be what our ego feels most comfortable with, but our spirit pulls us in this often-unfamiliar direction of change, of grace, of an unbound less source of energy moving all around us. As uneasy as it may feel, this is the place I want to live from.

“You can’t ever nail down who you really are. To understand your real self, you have to keep up as it moves. Finding the real you happens on the run.” Deepak Chopra

And so I’m off and running. I’ll never catch it, no need to, but I’ll have a great time trying. It’s the best I can do.

Have a blast of a week. ☺

I’m keeping it short today ☹

If sadness lingers, I think it’s been here too long and it’s brought some friends, friends whom I haven’t been able to identify. Either way, the past couple of weeks have been difficult and dark. It’s like I’m broken and I can break more at any given moment. No matter what I’ve done, I haven’t been able to snap out of it. A snap can happen so easily. I need some help and I’ve asked my angels, Sam and Bill, for some guidance.

The piece here is titled, Jesus Shadow. It’s my latest piece. Working with ‘oil’ markers has sort of brought the kid in me. I need my kid; it’s the little boy in me that makes life worthy. And that creepy clown in the photo is me. It's a photo from 10 years ago. Interstingly enough, it was Halloween and I'll never forget walking in to Trader Joes dressed in this atttire and feeling invisible. Even the cashier said nothing! It's like nobody wanted to see what or who was in front of them.

A little bright light has been the start of the new season of Glee Project. I don’t watch Glee, but this competition brings a smile to my face; watching these young ones and their hopes and personalities is refreshing.

An old proverb says, “If you see a friend without a smile; give him one of yours.”

I may not know you, but I'll give you mine. :)

Does a photo really say 1,000 words? Or is it me?

Due to unforeseen circumstances, I didn’t write on Friday. Here it is.

Since I’ve been writing about Jesus, Berkeley, and Keith Haring, I thought I’d share one last story, at least for now. It has to do with life coming full circle. I love it when this happens; it’s a beautiful thing.

At the end of one of my creative writing classes while at Cal, Professor Alfred Arteaga pointed out that I wrote about photographs. If he hadn’t said it out loud, I may not have noticed. Yet my poems (of photographs) were never near 1000 words; they were short and to the point. Even in writing my blog, I write about photographs, except this time around I’m using my own artwork. And still my posts are under 1000 words.

Just over a week ago, I discovered ‘oil’ markers. Where have they been all my life? The other day I spent close to $100 on markers. (Thank you Annatte for the commissioned piece; your money went to good use). These oil markers opened up my imagination and in some ways have taken me back to my early days of drawing while at Cal.

Just a couple of days ago, I found a ‘photo’ of Jerome Caja lying around my apartment. Jerome loved working with religious concepts, often defacing them. Since working on my latest series LITTLE Jesus, I put these markers to use and from out of nowhere, I decided to draw a crucifixion over this photo of Jerome. It came out beautifully; it’s the piece featured here. It reminiscent of my early work when I was doing line doodles a la Keith Haring. In the past couple of days, I’ve finished about 15 of these Jesus pieces; they all include one word on it. I’ve been slightly obsessed and I plan on spending most of my free time this week working with Jesus.

And so after all these years since Professor Arteaga’s comment, I’m not only writing about photographs, I’m drawing over them and even taking my own pictures. I don’t know what it is, but Diane Arbus said it interestingly enough, “A photograph is a secret about a secret. The more it tells you the less you know.” And so maybe it’s the secrets that have captured my imagination? And maybe my imagination has it’s own secrets.

Happy Monday and have a beautiful week.

After a few days of not feeling so well, I’m feeling a little better.

As I mentioned in last week’s post I didn’t major in Art while at UC Berkeley. Because Mama and Papa were paying for college, I didn’t think it was an option. Instead, I majored in English and I took a few art classes in between. I did well. And thanks to Keith Haring’s influence, I even received an A in my first figure drawing class.

Our professor, whose name I no longer recall, was a short Jewish woman with lots of energy and kinky wild hair. She encouraged us to paint larger than life and to use our entire bodies while painting. Though I never forgot her words, it’s interesting that I’m painting so small. But it’s who I am as artist and because of her I know that, at some point, I while paint large again. And if we were to be artists, she said we needed to paint for 8 hours a day. Otherwise, she didn’t want us in her classroom.


One morning before entering the classroom to inspect our finished projects, she peeked in through the door (with a coffee in hand) and asked us to hang our art work on the walls. After a few minutes, she walked in and immediately pointed to my piece and said something like, “This is one, this one. Who did this one?” Shyly, I raised my hand. She loved that my human figures were a bunch of obsessive line drawings(a la Keith Haring) instead of the traditional real to life human torsos that everyone else had done. I felt proud!

After all these years, I no longer have the piece that she was pointing to, but the piece shown here is similar in style. It’s Untitled; it was my final project. With thousands and thousands of dots, it was even more obsessive and time consuming to finish. Though it’s a little beat up, I still have it stored in my closet.

5 years after entering college, I lied to Mama and Papa. So as not to disappoint them, I went through graduation ceremonies. Because I unknowingly dropped a ‘required’ elective class in my last semester, I was one class short of receiving my diploma. Though my siblings and friends knew I had not officially graduated, I have never told Mama and Papa. After the ceremony, Mama quietly whispered into my ear, “Why didn’t you major in art?” Why hadn’t she told me years before? How would life been different? I wonder?

There’s no regret. I never did go back to receive my diploma; it was not important to me. I felt complete; I had received an amazing education. It's all I wanted in going to college. And so to Mama and Papa, I am eternally grateful for this gift. Thank you, you are my heroes.

And thank you for listening. Have a beauty of a week.

Ah, it’s Friday! And I’m not feeling too well, but it’ll pass.

I’m continuing where I left off, from my last post (sort of).

I decided not to follow in my older brother and sister’s footsteps and attend Santa Clara University. I was sick of private schools, priests, and mostly the Catholic religion. After high school, I wanted to attend a public university. My brother suggested Berkeley; he said I would fit right in. He was right.

On the day we drove up to the campus, he exited the freeway and drove up Telegraph Avenue. He kept saying, “Wait ‘til you see.” I wondered what he was talking abou,t as it looked like any other street, what was I supposed to be seeing?

And then it happened. We came across the main part of Telegraph near campus and People’s Park. There were college kids, punks, street vendors, and homeless loitering the streets. I was home; this is where I belonged. One image I’ll never forget is seeing “The Bubble Lady” hobbling down the street blowing soap bubbles. It was beautiful. I would later find out, that she was a poet; her real name is Julia Vinograd. I have kept two of her books, one of which is signed. The poetry is pure genius.

I didn’t consider majoring in Art and I chose English instead. I was sick of being a math wiz and I needed a challenge; English never came easy. Mostly, I wanted to read books and write poems (many even inspired by Julia). I thought I was going to be a writer. But here I am, I’m an artist and ‘maybe’ a writer. I never got to publish a book (as I had always dreamed of doing), but after 2 years of blogging I’m starting to think of myself as a writer. Growing up, I never thought I could be both; I either painted or I wrote. I painted when I was happy and I wrote when I felt sad. The two didn’t go hand in hand. Almost exactly 20 years since I left the Berkeley campus, I’m now an artist and a writer. OK, I said it; it’s official! And as for happy and sad, there are both still here. But mostly there is happiness.

The piece here is in honor of Julia Vinograd/ The Bubble Lady. It’s titled, “Save.” It’s part of my latest series, LITTLE Jesus. Somehow, though I never officially met Julia, I made a big life decision in seeing her and her soap bubbles. As I mentioned in my last post, she wrote of a poem called The Crucified Clown. Who knew that, without knowing, I’d be painting my versions of this poem. “Thank you Julia. Your words and bubbles inspired me.”

Cheers and Bubbles!

Suicide

Lick a stamp
and place it on
your forehead.
Seal your lips.
Send away with
no address,
no return address,
no letter, not
even a picture.