Posts Tagged ‘hate’

Here’s the final watercolor for “Sweet Dreams of You”. Stole the title from that Pasty Cline song.

Movies have a great influence on my life, including my attraction to people. After I spend a couple times with that boy I mentioned in my last post, I felt like he reminded me of someone, a friend pointed out which actor and thus I re-watched the movie HICK featuring a young gimp with a very peculiar face and a beautiful smile. I was surprised of the resemblance and remembered I was fascinated by the boy in that film when I saw it a few years back. So it’s no wonder I would have a big crush on someone who looks just like him. Me and so many others I’m sure. Now, said actor is one of the most popular young actor of the past few years but I only realized that after I dated that boy, ironically. I think subconsciously I always try to make my love life as dramatic as in the movies I watch.


I remember him mentioning people often told him he looked like Eddie Redmayne. I’m not sure that’s a good thing for him though, living in the shadow of someone the same age with such fame and career. I imagine it must be quite frustrating to be told everyday you look just like that person who succeeded everywhere you failed. We always want people to see and love us for what we are, not what we represent.

Then again he didn’t give us a chance to get better acquainted, I’ll never be sure why, there could be a million reasons. The simplest of them all is that he was just looking for a hook up. The difficulty about dating in NYC is that boys have so much opportunities to date beautiful girls without feeling the need to commit to anything they tend to forget we’re not just a toy they picked up and can put back on the shelf without causing damages. I fear people never want to be held responsible for hurting others, on the account we shouldn’t care or be too sensitive. But I personally think that if you’re going to use someone for your only personal needs you should know the risk of deeply upsetting them. You’re being rude, there is no rationalizing it. I never treated anyone with disrespect and I never get involve physically with someone if I sense I might hurt their feelings because I just don’t feel strong about them. Of course men are different. I doubt they have much going through their heads when they’re just trying to get in your pants.



I made that drawing trying to seize that moment which felt very intense to me because I hadn’t felt that comfortable with someone in a little over a year. It makes me sad thinking he probably plays the same charm game with every girl he meets. It’s so stereotypical and I guess I wanted him to be different from most boys I had met for the past year, with whom I had fun hooking up but never really felt like they were interesting beyond their physical appearance. Or we simply truly had nothing in common, so it wasn’t difficult for me to ignore them and not feel upset if they didn’t reach out. With him I felt there were something different, and I was so excited about discovering more about who he was, no matter how the relationship would turn out to be; that I didn’t hold back or played games like the custom here dictates. Again he probably felt nothing special and that’s what’s most upsetting. Makes me feel like nobody will ever understand truly how I am and accept me the way I deal with things, which I know can be too bold and overwhelming, especially for Americans who were taught expressing feelings is a form of weakness and notions of romance are only things we were lied about in films.

But then again there’s nothing more beautiful than feeling vulnerable. Someone once wrote “I know I hardly knew him, but I felt like I could love him”. Don’t get me wrong I feel that way more often than you could think, then it just take me a couple of weeks to figure out if that feeling will last or not. That is if the person lets me in. So my moto is why hold back when you have a strong first feeling since for all you know, it might only last a week?



I’ll close up on that song (which happened to be in a key moment in the movie Hick) which I’m probably going to always associate with that boy I will never see again;

“Sweet dreams of you
Every night I go through
Why can’t I forget you and start my life anew
Instead of having sweet dreams about you
You don’t love me, it’s plain
I should know I’ll never wear your ring
I should hate you the whole night through
Instead of having sweet dreams about you
Sweet dreams of you
Things I know can’t come true
Why can’t I forget the past, start loving someone new
Instead of having sweet dreams about you”
Till soon ~

Here’s another large 11×17 Polaroid, I’m really enjoying working on larger scale, it allows me to had more detail to the composition. Also are enclosed a series of 3 slightly larger Polaroid, medium size we shall say.

I’m a light sleeper, I always fall asleep after my lover and wake up before them, and I’m often awoken in the middle of the night by dreams, or nightmares. Which give me plenty of time to look upon the person resting peacefully next to me. I often envy their mindlessness.

You were just a bad dream

Sometimes I feel like my mask of sanity is about to slip. I have too much imagination and I’m haunted by anxiety dreams which I can only relieve by turning them into drawings, paintings or any kind of artwork . Working keeps my mind at peace. Otherwise it’s always running, I play pictures in my head and  they create films I wish I could spray on paper.

Summer Blues

It’s getting late so I’ll close on a beautiful poem by Paul Verlaine about a recurrent dream;

I often have this dream, strange, penetrating,
Of a woman, unknown, whom I love, who loves me,
And who’s never, each time, the same exactly,
Nor, exactly, different: and knows me, is loving.
Oh how she knows me, and my heart, growing
Clear for her alone, is no longer a problem,
For her alone: she alone understands, then,
How to cool the sweat of my brow with her weeping.
Her eyes are the same as a statue’s eyes,
And in her voice, distant, serious, mild,
The tone of dear voices, those that have died.

Good night.

~ D


Here is a large 11 by 15″ Polaroid and a series of snapshot of regular sized Polaroids.

I’ve been reflecting about the gender issues recently and dynamics in relationship.

Our culture made us believe in the prince charming, but what about the princess charming? Male is always on top of things, and ironically when he encounters a woman who meets all the standards he could dream for, if she happens to be more than he can actually bring himself to be, the man feels emasculated. Now that seems unfair to me. If a woman meets a man who’s talented, beautiful, rich and in love with her (to simplify), that’s perfect. If it’s the other way around, the man feels like he needs to compete with the woman and must if not equal her, surpass her. It’s hard to accept the change of dynamics. And a man who is earning less than his partner still feels inadequate next to her. The men who accept it tends to be opportunists, or gigolos (or labeled as such). But it shouldn’t have to be. Financial status shouldn’t be important in a relationship. But is the world really ready for a dynamic where women earn the money and the men help at home with the kids? Women became independent, but there are more single women raising kids on their own than ever. It seems it just made some men more self centered and confused. Women don’t need them anymore for financial support, so what is their place? Where can they feel important? Why not see your partner success as your success and simply bring yourself up?

Young people often forget relationships come with up and downs, and one person complete the other on certain things they wouldn’t be able to achieve by themselves. It’s in hardship you can build yourself, and if someone can be on your side to support you by simply being there for you, then it’s beautiful. Unfortunately, the youth tends to focus on the unimportant, and the self.

Love is about caring for someone more than yourself, not impress them with what you have. Love is to appreciate what they give you and give back any way you can. Caring for what they truly are, not what they represent.

Last Shot

These snapshots type give nice movement to a sequence. More of those to come…


Some people will stick with you forever as a fond or disappointing memory. But there is nothing like sorrow to get fueled with inspiration. It’s usually in the darkest, or brightest moments you find emotions strong enough to sing with your very own voice.

I’ll close on an extract from the Black Prince;

There is nothing quite like the dead dull feel of a failed marriage. Nor is there anything like one’s hatred for an ex-spouse. (How can such a person dare to be happy?) I cannot credit those who speak of ‘friendship’ in such a context. I lived in years with a sense of things irrevocably soiled and spoiled, it could give suddenly such a sad feel to the world sometimes. I could not liberate myself from her mind. This had nothing to do with love. Those who have suffered these sort of bondage will understand. […]  Out of sigh out of mind is a charter of human survival. Not so Christian, she was ubiquitous: her consciousness was rapacious, her thoughts could damage, passing like noxious rays through space and time. Her remarks were memorable. Only good old America cured her for me in the end. I put her away with a tedious man in a tedious and very distant town and was able to feel that she had died. What a relief!

~ Iris Murdoch – The Black Prince (1975)

till soon~

D –

Here are a couple of larger Polaroids I did a few months ago, an all nighter as I recall just drinking and painting.

Henry Miller said “There are only 3 things that can be done with a woman; you can love her, suffer for her, or turn her into literature.”

What about us non lesbian women artists? I realized reading this quote I’ve been doing just that using my romantic adventures as direct inspiration for my paintings. You can love a man, suffer for him, or turn him into an art piece. Ironically I think I need to go through the 2 prior stages before I can finally paint someone. At least some good came out of all these “meaningful casual” relationships. Although I’m probably just being more honest with myself than the men in my life. I rather be accused of “giving too much” or “loving too much” than anything else.

This made me ponder on the gender issue. When a man has a Muse and creates a piece of art it’s normal, but when a woman does have a male Muse she quickly gets labeled as “crazy” or “obsessive”.  It’s unfair but it’s in the collective subconscious somehow. I don’t think Dali’s wife ever complained to be in every single one of his late paintings. Men are rarely comfortable with being a Muse. Maybe it’s simply pride? I’d think a passionate man wouldn’t mind and would respond with more creativity and love toward his artist companion.  I’m open to a debate if anyone has insights on the male side. I think it all depends on how you look at it.

I personally love taking photographs and videos in the attempts to grasp certain intimate moments so I can remember them later in my life. In the illusion I might preserve these moments forever. Although a lot of pictures I took only remind me of how much I’ve lost. I live with nostalgia but I don’t regret any of it. Nor do I regret to have captured any of these moments on film. After a while, they become something new you look at with a romantic eye. I love to work from photography but my best artwork are based purely on memory. As I live, I tell myself; “This, right now. His face, his expression, is beautiful. I want to capture that moment as I would with a camera, I want to capture this sensation”. This is how I managed to sketch and draw intimate moments that only my eyes saw, that only my heart felt. Sometimes it’s like an out of body experience, as I try to remember it. I can see us from a distance and create a composition from it.

Black Bath Heart of DarknessI’ll close with a quote from Henry Miller;

Life moves on, whether we act as cowards or heroes. Life has no other discipline to impose, if we would but realize it, than to accept life unquestioningly. Everything we shut our eyes to, everything we run away from, everything we deny, denigrate or despise, serves to defeat us in the end. What seems nasty, painful, evil, can become a source of beauty, joy, and strength, if faced with an open mind. Every moment is a golden one for him who has the vision to recognize it as such”

~ till next time…

I just finished a novel called “Piercing” by Japanese author Murakami Ryu. I usually don’t blog about books but I thought I’d stop on this one because of the highly sexual component. I read several novels from this “decadent” author, starting with Almost transparent blue, war begins beyond the sea, Coin Locker Babies (My favorite) and the Melancholia trilogy.

Murakami Ryu is known for his very dark style, always dealing with tormented characters full of neurosis and paranoia. Murakami dives us in the darkest part of our reality and gives a voice to these monologues on pleasure, boredom and death. His style is brutal, cold and extremely crude, notably when it comes to sex. But there is beauty even in the darkest hour, if you know where to look. And there is something fascinating about humans capacity to survive. In all his novels, the characters stop in the middle of the chaos to contemplate something usually simple but extremely beautiful by it’s randomness, which usually makes them come to a realization about themselves. Like the sound of their own heartbeat; “There is nothing more beautiful and soothing than the sound of a regular heartbeat.”

Piercing is a sort of reversed thriller. A la Dostoevsky, we know exactly what is going on in the murderer’s head and his plans. In Piercing the main character, Kawashima, is obsessed with an idea… the idea he’s going to stab his infant with an ice pick! His solution to avoid that tragedy? Go on a elaborate plan to stab hookers in a Tokyo hotel. But oddly enough nothing goes as PLANNED!
I won’t give out too much but I’ll say that the character of the victim is as widely developed and psychotic as the night terror prone neurotic Kawashima.
I shivered more than once when reading through this novel because of some very graphic imagery… The suspense was killing me and the ending (for once unlike most of Murakami’s novel) was very satisfying. I could see this turned into a thriller or horror film like Audition. I’m not fan of the horror genre but there is something about the psychology of Murakami’s novel that I find fascinating and yet scary.

Here is some extracts from when Kawashima is writing notes about his ritual plans;
Of course, we’ll need a change of clothes as well,He wrote, since there’s bound to be a good deal of blood. Taking off all our own clothes is a possibility, but it would be risky in the event of some form of active resistance on the woman’s part. Besides, getting naked as the ritual was reaching a climax that might be interpreted as having some sort of sexual meaning. We don’t want the woman to think we’re slicing through her Achilles’s tendons just to satisfy a perverted sexual need. She must remain uncertain as to what the significance her own bloodshed and agony hold. It’s vital that those on the receiving end of violence ponder its meaning. A sad but important truth.

He read over his seven pages of notes, making a few small additions, then put the notebook in his briefcase and spun the dials on the combination lock. He opened the curtains and looked at Tokyo Tower, whose lights were off now, and as he took another sip of Whisky he was aware of the heat in his throat and stomach radiating waves of sexual desire through his body. After the second glass he decided not to drink any more, fearing that he might give in to the temptation to call an S&M club and have a woman sent over.
He hadn’t yet decided how old the victim should be. The idea of someone in her late thirties appealed to him, but he somehow felt it would be more satisfying to plunge the ice pick into a firm, smooth young belly this time, rather than one that was soft and sagging. A young woman yes, with resilient, snow-white skin.”

till soon…

I was recently really moved by a song from Bjork’s latest album which urge the listener to recognize the sacrifice made by women for the sake of Love.
It seems biology compels females to sacrifice; to protect their young, their lover… Women sacrifice a lot out of love, sometimes even their pride and dignity…

Where is the line between dominant and dominated? When do you lose respect for your partner? Why? Being submitted to your love’s desires can be very conflicting. The fear to loose the respect from your Lover is frightening.
Women had to be submissive to men’s will for centuries. And even today the freedom we gain remain very fragile. How many times do women have to take insults, demeaning remarks etc… from their partners and just take them in. Men don’t even realize how hurtful they can be, they just instinctively want to be the “dominant” one.

I strongly believe in mutual respect but it’s been proven challenging to obtain…

Some people are capable to make great sacrifices out of love, some people are not.
Being capable of sharing intimacy and thinking of someone other than yourself is a great challenge for some… while natural for others.

Women give a lot, they are capable of lowering their pride out of Love. They give, they follow around, they dedicate themselves entirely just to get a minimum of appreciation from their lover.
Some people just aren’t worth the sacrifice…

Here is the song. The Lyrics say it all…

“Why can’t you give her room?
Respect her spatial needs.
I feel you compress her
Into a small space.

With clairvoyance,
She knew what you needed,
And she gave it to you.
Now her desires are repressed
Arrows in the flesh

When she found your love,
Her nature bowed her head
She surrendered,
She renounced the world for you,
Now she’s poisoned by demands
You cannot answer.

Why this sacrifice?
Now she regrets the whole thing,
A delayed reaction
When she left her craft voluntarily
For your nest, for your love.
Did you understand?

Build a bridge to her.
Initiate a touch
Before it’s too late,
Say the words to her
That will make her shine.

Tell her that you love her.

Your generosity will show
In the volume of her glow.”

till soon…

Today’s post feature a little poem from X.

_”On the rare day I forget you exist,
I breathe. I
can breathe.
Like that time I
shared with you the origin of the word
nightmare.  The woman, beautiful,
and naïve in her  own precious way,
drifts quietly to sleep
unaware, of the stallion
the beast on its way to her bedside.
Upon arrival, the Incubus, passenger
of said horse,  dismounts, and
following the undressing of the beautiful
woman, begins at once to consume her
Rape, cerebral.
Dreams interrupted, battered
by the gremlin on her chest, crushing
innards, breaking ribs and suckling.
Yet and still, she readies herself
night after night
with blush colored rouge
and bright pink lips.”


till soon…