Dreams Are Real 021: New York Stories 01

New York has been in my history for a long time.  Growing up I was read excerpts from a book my great grandmother had written about her childhood.  She was accepted into the gifted school young, and joined the theater group with Claudette Colbert.  She wrote about her neighborhood and what she loved most about it, Gramercy Park.  I heard this and dreamed of a gorgeous New York with women draped with feather boas, walking the streets in their sequins and sparkle and long cigarette holders.  I didn't know that much more about Doris, only that her mother Maudie ran off to Hollywood to marry a man in the movies, and Doris eventually settled down, moved out of New York, and started a family.  Doris was also known for her séances and automatic writing.

Last year my mother gave me a picture of Maudie for my own collection.  I like having reminders of where I came from.  And I like looking at Maudie and knowing where my fashion sense derived from.  But most of all I like to find the connections. 

A few years ago I walked passed Gramercy Park, looking whistfully at the high fence and feeling the inside of my purse for an extra key.  There wasn't one. With an twinge of jealousy and an instant entitlement, I threw my purse over the iron fence and climbed to the top.  It was supposed to be a graceful jump down but of course, my dress got caught, and I fell, smashing the tulips underneath.  An older woman sat on the bench trying not to giggle.  I wiped the dirt from my now ripped dress, shook off, and said "It's ok my family used to live here."

There's a part of me that wishes for that life, that wishes for Gramercy Park and to take one of those keys and go in legally.  And maybe one day those wishes will come true.  I do find an awful lot of keys.  And I am getting terribly restless.

In a few hours I'll be heading to the train in my new favorite item, a golden shawl purchased for pennies but worth so much more.  I'll be reuniting with R. Krassnova, who likes to shoot me in run down mills, and abandoned alleys.  This time I'm asking for train tracks and sand dunes.

En Gypsy Couture 05: Time Out

It's been non-stop for the past month and doesn't look like it's going to slow up anytime soon.  Next weekend brings Thanksgiving which means I'll be taking a breather in MA.  And by taking a breather, it basically means I'll be catching up on my writing. 

Amazing things have happened this week.  I recently shot with Joseph W. Carey who is a wonderful photographer and someone I can see working with on a regular basis.  I also just sent a box of small paintings to the Anno Domini Gallery in San Jose.  So if you are in town the month of December check out my work as well as the other talented artists that are participating in the show and get some of your Christmas shopping out of the way.

Been thinking a lot lately about how I was brought up and how my parents interests have shaped me as well as other family members. You can thank my friend Warren and "Shivering Sands" for that. ( It's a good thing.) I grew up around horse racing, drumsets, rock n' roll, classical, publishing, mystics,and home businesses.  My Grandparents started the "Horseman's Yankee Pedlar", I believe in the 70's and sold it during the 80's.  My Grandfather was a horseracer who's gelding "Good Luck Boulder" won him race after race.  Rumor has it when I was born he bought me a pony but I was so allergic my family had to sell it.  It didn't stop me from riding though, neither did the fact that I wasn't very good at it, but I digress, my grandparents started a newspaper and my parents worked for them during the day.  In the evenings my parents would attend corvette parties.  My Dad was a corvette enthusiast and started Vette n' USA.  That lasted throughout the 70's and into the early 80's.  It may still be around.  I'm not to good at keeping track of these things but I know he's not the publisher of it any longer. He also played and still does play the drums.  My Mom worked with both of these publications as well as writing and painting, she even caught the eye of Playboy scouts who were in town with Barbi Benton and  asked her to pose in Playboy mid 70's.  She declined the offer.  My Mother's Mother was a healer and came from a long line of witches. My Father's Grandmother held seances in her home, her best friend was a Hollywood starlet and they grew up in Grammercy Park.  Her mother married a movie producer and became a socialite.  Do you see where this is going?  I have become all of them, a publisher, a model, artist, and sometimes socialite who dates the occasional drummer, their body maps engraved into me. 

But I don't think any one of them had a leopard print coat or a choak chain collar.  Somewhere down the line the map took a sharp turn, ran into a rough patch, and found punk rock, junk, and any other drama it could find.  I'm glad to be out of the mud now but damn, the fashion stayed with me.

I have to finish some layouts now, deadlines slowly tick away.  I hope at least some of this made sense.  If not we'll just blame the sleep deprived girl staring at the computer and the soft clicking of computer keys.

Currently reading Tony O' Neill's "Down and Out On Murder Mile"

Current Soundtrack: The Germs

I apologize for the atrocious grammar and any spelling errors.  I'm so tired my eyes are starting to cross.