leaving the house is still something i have a hard time with unless it's inevitable like to work or if someone motivates me to do something. it's 4:04 p.m. and i'm still home, still in pajamas. however, i did make progress today, i went back into the studio and started working in a large (3' x 5' which is large for me) canvas which is kinda becoming something by itself. all i know is that i'm doing it for george, or in response to his death actually. working in such a larger format has made me feel good, it's a more physical act and i think what i need right now.

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i wrote the paragraph above yesterday. i think i spent about 5 hours in the studio and even though there's not a huge tangible evidence of the time spent there, i feel better about the possibility of reconnecting to my work. the canvas i'm working on looks somewhat different to my usual work. i have no idea how it will look in the end or if it will ever be shown. i think of it more as a transition piece. as i worked i listened to the beach boys, four seasons, ventures-that was george's music, i don't know if what i'm trying to do with this work is be closer to him or accept his death or as g said i'm looking for my place in the world he left behind.

i just found these photos of a piece i made for my first solo show in new york, i like them, the poem is me talking about or to a man i was in a relationship with and who hurt me like hell. years have gone by but the wounds are still there/the same i guess.

yesterday after brunch with friends in greenpoint i went back home. when i got out of the station i realized it was still early and there was enough light to go to the abandoned railroad tracks i have been meaning to go to forever to take photos. These tracks are part of the Long Island Railroad Bushwick Branch that went from Brooklyn to Queens. info on them can be found here and here.

i'm fascinated by decay and abandoned places, i connect/relate with both concepts entirely so when i first moved to bushwick and saw these, i fell in love and being there yesterday was a thrill. i took some photos, however, my aim was to walk down the tracks exploring the detritus and taking more photos but i was so incredibly harrassed by men when i was there i had to leave. it was frustrating, guys in cars would stop to bother me and it became very creepy, i realized i was putting myself in a dangerous position. there's photos of the tracks from someone that went in in the blog bushwickbk.com i want to go back with maybe 2-3 guys and walk the tracks. this is one of the photos i took, there's more in my flickr page but i feel i haven't even scratched the surface yet.

i sat there for a little bit looking around and touching things, i wanted to see if anything caught my attention enough to work on it. nothing happened. i found a box i bought in a thrift store with so much excitement, it's made of wood and opens to a few compartments and has a handle to carry it with you, so i bought it to make a portable little altar. today as i looked at it, i thought i could make a box for george, then i got a huge block trying to think how i would make it. at least i went in, am i making progress? i cannot deal with the irony that for the first ime in my life i have a real comfortable working space just for me, what i always wanted and i am unable to use/enjoy it. maybe i need plants, i only have a tiny one, maybe having more plants will make me go in more, at least to take care of them. i may look into that today.

if little acts count, at least i uploaded three photos to flickr yesterday, photos i took from MAD (Museum of Art and Design) the same day George died. I was there prepping for Family Day and remember feeling unwell, not at all at ease and felt attracted by that view and the vertigo it made me feel, so i started taking photos instead of finishing my work. it took me two weeks to upload them because they remind me so much of that night, of getting the news i still don't believe or accept.

on sundays, my ritual is to go to work at the isamu noguchi garden museum to give the public talk. talks (or tours as some people call them) at the noguchi are special as they are not lectures but strive to engage museum visitors to produce the information together with the educator and to make personal connections. i encourage visitors to voice their opinions and as with everything that's not fed to you, the experience becomes more meaningful for all parts involved. every time i give a talk there i take away the positive energy visitors give me and leave renewed, today was no exception. visitors are always extremely grateful of the experience and feel excited when they realize looking at art is not the daunting task we think it is. i begin the conversation getting to know a little about my visitors to establish a comfort zone and we proceed to look at and discuss a selection of pieces in the museum. it's important to have a passion for this job and love the artwork. i remember how in my first encounter with noguchi's work i felt unimpressed and did not feel an interest to work with that collection. i did not connect with abstract art and did not even try to dig deeper. however, life took me to noguchi, i was recommended to work there and at first took this as a job. pretty soon however, as i read more about noguchi and learned about his life and motivations i became more then interested in this hard working man who came from a place of struggle and duality, who had a difficult relationship to his own identity. just like me. the museum in itself is a sacred space for me, i'm incredibly blessed to work there, i feel i was one of the chosen, every sunday is a new lesson in what being an artist truly is.

museums can many times be too scripted and leave little space for personal organization of ideas and interpretation; you are often times guided to look in ways that are supposed to be the 'right ones'. the beauty of noguchi, a museum designed by an artist, is that you 're invited to look at the work in a different way, from a place with no labels where possible, from the inner silence that the voice of stone produces.

i should have posted this a while ago but i just didn't have the energy or will to do it. i have no idea how i made it to the opening of the show postcards from the edge. it was jam packed and i hated being there. as i tried to find my piece i felt overwhelmed by so many happy people celebrating while all i could think was that my brother was gone-this was only three days after george left. i struggled to find my piece (number 1176), photograph it and then left immediately because i felt i couldn't breathe. i don't know if anyone bought it, but if it wasn't sold, it'll come back to me and maybe it'll make me want to make art again.

some of my studio photos have been added to a member curated gallery in flickr which can be seen here. seeing my photos there first surprised me and then made me feel weird. looking at my studio in those photos, my old studio spaces where so much happened and there was so much joy made me feel that that's my past, like when you find an old photo of a past love and you start remembering the good and bad things of that relationship. i wonder if i'll be able to return to that space that's so still now, that seems to be waiting for me. L went in yesterday and said how it's such a beautiful space with such good energy perfect to work... and yet i just can't go in. and i wonder if i'll ever be able to.

i'm trying to come back, to return to my artwork. i made an attempt to pick up on an idea i had right before george left, three life size body bag silhouettes cut out on masonite and painted in in the same way i painted pig silhouettes before (i will post a pic of what i'm talking about soon, don't have them in digital form, only in slides). s will cut them out for me if i ever get down to doing this. it kinda got me a bit excited yesterday as i asked s about it but now i'm not. the reason i'm writing this is so that i mark this idea and remind myself of it when i re-read my blog.

something else i haven't touched is my sketch book, not even for writing, i can't write either but i know this bottling things inside will just be worse. at some point i will explode and it won't be pretty. how do i force myself to let it out though?

This project was about silhouettes and narratives and was designed to connect with themes in the exhibition Slash: Paper Under The Knife. I designed a simple city paper background, families were asked to make paper silhouettes and add them to the city, interacting with it. It was fun to see the city grow and evolve and to hear the children building stories around it. The city started having things like cars and people but slowly evolved to flying octopus and aliens abducting people!

Family Days in museums hold a special place in my heart as I find that for a child the moment of sharing creation with a parent can be extremely powerful, I thank the Museum of Art and Design for inviting me to be a part of this one. Check out their blog for more info on this event,

I know and no one has to remind me of this, that this is my art blog, meaning this is where I discuss my process in my art-making. However my life and my art are not separate entities and my life is kinda falling apart now and this is of course affecting my art. This is why I haven't posted for so long, I also have made no art and I'm not sure if I will again soon-or ever. My brother George died last week and it seems that that's when the world stopped. I'm struggling with so many things right now but his death has also made me realize how many mistakes I was making and to re think my life choices. I feel lost, I'm overwhelmed and unable to function and so completely and utterly alone. Today is an especially bad day, I'm slowly trying to get back to 'normal life' which means pick up on work that has been left far behind. I opened a lesson plan I need to finish and submit soon, it was the one I was working on when I got the call with the news and I burst into uncontrollable tears and went directly to that night and the pain the news caused. I felt it all again so clearly.

As I try to recover and live in my little daze of a world my days have become, I worked in a very nice Family Day at the Museum of Art and Design (more photos can be found in a separate post), managed to work at Noguchi doing my public talk on Sunday and attended a highly motivating training about Teen programs at MoMA yesterday. I guess we all heal in different ways, I'm trying to do it through finding ways to better serve through my work and to actually engage in teaching. I'm also starting a partnership with the Drawing Center and even though I'm doing all these things I'm the poorest I've been in about 5 years. And that's scary. I also feel I'm not really here, like i'm only going through the motions but not really living.

I have barely entered my studio and have not been able to even attempt to work and I'm asking myself why? Why can't I find solace in my art making? Why isn't it giving me peace? I feel the world is spinning and I want it to stop. Now more than ever I have been thinking about going back to Lima and I have also thought about stopping making art altogether. I think my brother's death has stunned me and I can't do anything now, I feel that art making was my way of expressing joy (dark joy but still joy) and I feel no joy now. After my father died it took me two years to recover and start again, I cannot afford that now. When dad died, George took over that position for me. In many ways, I have orphaned twice, I feel unprotected and so scared and tired of everything. All I want is to curl up in bed and not think or feel. I don't want to move.

It's ironic that now that I have such a nice studio space I can't use it.