I’m at a local coffee shop with a friend working on a project. We wrap up and head out. I’m unlocking my car door when I hear a woman across the street yell the word “Watermelon.” I turn to look at her. The woman looks directly at me again and yells “Watermelon.” Then clickety-clack proceeds up the street with her shopping cart full of things. I’m stunned and my friend looks at me in disbelief. It’s not important for the purposes of this article why watermelon is significant, but it is. A lifesaving message I needed to hear at that point in my life. I see her again a year later and run down the street to catch up with her.read more
Jacksonville Publicist ~ Aspiring Daredevil I’m “gone with the wind,” leaving behind unfolded laundry and meeting requests. Frankly my dear, I’d rather breeze through items on my bucket list than my to-do list. Each day, I seek people, adventures, and opportunities that make me feel most alive. Ride. Run. Travel. Skydive. Live out loud. #freedom Photo by Laura Evans ...read more
When I saw the artwork for Coldplay’s Ghost Stories, I was taken by the mythology and discovered Mila Furstova for the first time. Mila etches in Perspex, often creating multilayered pieces. Enamored, I looked at her body of work, including the Flow Series, of a woman in the water. It is featured in last month’s story, “Apo Helios” (Jan/February). Mila, who resides in Cheltenham, England, balances an exhibition in the world’s largest venue – the album cover, motherhood, art and business. She will soon release her new series, Motherhood; to be shown at the AGallery in London. I recently had the pleasure of interviewing Mila Furstova for Arbus …read more
Willis can talk me through this. Why is he abandoning me now? Reaching out, I find he is unable to hide his own pain.
I see him on the beach before his awakening. A young Kristina, surfboard under-arm, running out to the water during the riptide. Willis tries to stop her. She mocks him and heads to the surf. Her board is seen hours later on the north beach, her body never found. In his tall proud frame, he carries guilt that he didn’t do more.
It is at precisely 1:14 a.m.1 that I’m suddenly awake, staring at the ceiling. I know every crevice in the spackle like every nerve in my leg; scars painting the accident that took me down as a child. Not sure how long these severed and sewn limbs will serve me. Sleep ebbs and floods with the spasms. By 5 a.m., I’m done. I don’t care what day it is . . . tired of feeling so bad. I take another look at the hydrocodone bottle in the medicine cabinet.1a I slam it shut, grab my towel, sling goggles around my neck and drive to the beach to find relief in the cold winter water. As I drive east, the moon races to the horizon behind me.read more
“Soft-hearted people can’t work with kids like that.” She’s right. A dear friend of mine said that to me today when I told her this story.
On the first day of summer camp Angie was having problems.
waterworks TTS3 FlipHCrop_VIBRANT fI’m sitting in a gazebo, having a chat with my friend Dr. Marie Bailey. Marie is a yoga therapist, former clinical psychologist and my meditation coach. We’re talking about healing and we’re located precisely where we need to be. This gazebo sits on the St. Johns River between the water and St. Vincent’s Hospital. The tide is ebbing, the water taking the shape of the river bed, making its way to the ocean . . . the constant sculptor, slightly changing the shoreline at every moment. As a healer, she nourishes all along her way. I observe that water takes the shape and changes the shape of its container: Two of the most powerful elements of healing – empathy and change.read more
When you have a writer/performer/artist born into your family, or you get married to, or you’re the child of, you don’t sign up for being fodder for their writing: it not something you think about . . . you just want that relationship with them, or in some cases you’re stuck with that relationship. You don’t ask for the world to hear about your ups and downs, your most private and painful moments; but as an artist, that’s what we do.read more
Earth is a system like any other. Birth, peak and decline. There isn’t a system in the universe that doesn’t perform the cycle: Real estate, dot com booms and crashes, populations, cultures and super novas. On a physics level it’s a property of the forward motion of time. It’s pretty much in our face.read more
When my children were younger, I co-owned an art gallery called Spiller Vincenty on King Street in San Marco. I won’t deny my kids had an avant-garde upbringing, with artists coming and going, performance pieces being enacted on makeshift stages (and once in a blow-up baby pool), and the aspect of our home ever-changing as paintings were recycled and works of art were sold off of the living room walls like gewgaws at a church bazaar. There were times when one of my children’s friends would titter at a Laurie Hitzig nude, or startle at a realistic Jeff Whipple sculpture, but for the most part, our lives and the lives of our friends and family were simultaneously enriched and desensitized by the barrage of artistic expression that surrounded us. Spiller Vincenty Gallery is long gone, but I still do some consulting and I had the good fortune to place art in a fabulous beach house recently with curious result. We were in the middle of renovations and there was a surfeit of workmen, designers and technicians scurrying about, the air rife with the dramatic sturm und drang of missed deadlines and impending renters. I’m blithely hanging a Jim Draper oil on canvas portrait over a banquette, minding my own business, when the job foreman says, “What is that? That guy’s eye is poked out. You can’t put that up there. It’s disgusting. It’s not even beachy.” The painting has a robin’s egg blue background. There is a swan involved. There is also a man looking distressed, with a shadowy eye that might be a bit gouged and disturbing. The painting is gorgeous to my eyes, but it would never be described as “beachy”. I ignore the critique and walk down the hall with a Kurt Polkey oil on canvas. The painting is divided into three sections; the largest image is of two blondes who appear to be smiling or sneering, depending upon how you see the glass of water. The other images are an incongruous light bulb and a motorcycle. l begin to measure sixty inches to the center of the painting; as I measure to the center of the wall, someone says, “That’s gonna be too high. It should be lower – and are those Siamese twins?” A couple of people have gathered and another guy says, “I think that’s supposed to be blood slashed across the front.” Oh for heaven’s sake. Is everybody Vito Schnabel on this job? By Marilyn...read more