“Ideas are like rabbits. You get a couple and learn how to handle them, and pretty soon you have a dozen.” ~ J.S. It's the "handling them" part I'm still figuring out!
20 Dec 2014 Leave a comment
It is finished! It is done! (Highly sacrilegious, I know, but I’m feeling a little like triumphant Jesus right now).
The official Arts website I’ve been designing for over two months is finally ready! I can’t wait for you all to see it, share it, and love it. I’m still blogging, but this is the site where I’ll be adding most of my new content from now on.
Check it out: www.cSArtsHaven.com
14 May 2014 4 Comments
in Uncategorized Tags: Anaïs Nin, Art, Authors, Creative Writing, CultSTATUS, Culture, Feminism, Inspiration, Literature, TheCultSTATUS
We’ve been seeing each other for over a month. It’s still early in the relationship, so I’m a bit premature in saying this, but I think she could be The One. My latest and greatest literary Muse. Why?
She inspires me. She challenges my preconceived notions. She makes me laugh. She pisses me off. She writes Erotica! She’s more than a little dysfunctional – but I’ve got talking rabbits in my mind, so who am I to judge? We disagree on key issues like abortion, fidelity, incest, honesty, and polygamy. But, “God how I love [her] Words!” And anyone who can feed my insatiable appetite for language automatically goes on my short list of True Loves, no questions asked.
Is it just me, or does she kind of resemble that other great lady, Hillary Clinton?
So how did we fall for each other? Well, here’s the low down on the whole sneaky seduction – as told through my favorite Anaïs Nin quotes, of course!
It started innocently enough. In late March, my friend Selana posted this quote on her Facebook page:
“Love never dies a natural death. It dies because we don’t know how to replenish its source. It dies of blindness and errors and betrayals. It dies of illness and wounds; it dies of weariness, of witherings, of tarnishings.”
This was about halfway through my self-imposed forty day “Facebook Fast” for Lent, so I didn’t actually see the full post online, but leave it to my oft-forgotten account settings and Gmail to send e-mail updates to my phone whenever a close friend changed their status. I took a moment to glance at the quote before quickly deleting it. The thought occurred to me that I really liked the eloquent wording, but I pressed the trash icon before I had a chance to see who the phrase was attributed to.
I guess you could say Anaïs and I spotted each other in a crowded room, shared a brief “moment”, but didn’t manage to exchange names or contact information. The moment passed quickly enough and I thought that was the end of it. Surely, I’d never see her again.
But less than two weeks later, there she was popping up in my line of sight once more! This time I was scrolling through the never-ending stream of advertisements that accumulate in my Gmail promotions tab. I paused to get my daily fix of curly girl hair inspiration from Curly Nikki, and what do I see from one of the many guest bloggers but this gem that literally stopped me in my tracks:
“I must be a mermaid… I have no fear of depths and a great fear of shallow living.” ― Anaïs Nin
If I’m being completely honest, I loved the quote but still wasn’t quite in-love with the author just yet. I’m a rabbit kind of girl, after all. Some days, when I’m feeling extra boundless, I’m even a bird.
I’m a bird, I’m a bird! Say it… Tell me I’m a bird… Better yet, I’m an Angel!!! #Boundless
But a mermaid? I could appreciate the sentiment behind the words, but they weren’t exactly speaking to my soul in that intimate voice that comes right before The Fall. On the bright side, I had a name to go along with the quote now, although I hadn’t yet realized it was the same person from my friend Selana’s earlier post.
Another week passed when I saw these words from fellow blogger and new friend Cristian Mihai “You cannot save people.” He attributed the partial quote to Anaïs also, and after several run-ins with her name, I knew I had to find out more. These accidental meetings were starting to feel downright kismet!
I stalked out her entire life. Her journals – expurgated and otherwise. Her erotic writings for a private collector. Her political views. Her psychotherapy and incestuous relationships. Her marriages to two men at the same time. Her lovers. I wanted it all. Clearly I was obsessed.
Which, I guess, makes me something of the Anaïs to her June Miller? I told myself the whole thing would blow over soon enough – I can be fickle with my Muses that way – but for the moment, these were the Words that fanned the flames of my devotion:
“There are two ways to reach me: by way of kisses or by way of the imagination. But there is a hierarchy: the kisses alone don’t work.”
“We write to taste life twice, in the moment and in retrospect.”
“The role of a writer is not to say what we can all say, but what we are unable to say.”
A taste of my own search for Imagination.
“We do not grow absolutely, chronologically. We grow sometimes in one dimension, and not in another; unevenly. We grow partially. We are relative. We are mature in one realm, childish in another. The past, present, and future mingle and pull us backward, forward, or fix us in the present. We are made up of layers, cells, constellations.”
You know how I love my stars and constellations!
“I, with a deeper instinct, choose a man who compels my strength, who makes enormous demands on me, who does not doubt my courage or my toughness, who does not believe me naïve or innocent, who has the courage to treat me like a woman.”
“Life shrinks or expands in proportion to one’s courage.”
“Someone told me the delightful story of the crusader who put a chastity belt on his wife and gave the key to his best friend for safekeeping, in case of his death. He had ridden only a few miles away when his friend, riding hard, caught up with him, saying ‘You gave me the wrong key!
“The only abnormality is the incapacity to love.”
“Our love of each other was like two long shadows kissing without hope of reality.”
“I write emotional algebra.”
“In chaos, there is fertility.”
Feeling pretty “chaotic”.
“Something is always born of excess: great art was born of great terror, great loneliness, great inhibitions, instabilities, and it always balances them.”
“There are very few human beings who receive the truth, complete and staggering, by instant illumination. Most of them acquire it fragment by fragment, on a small scale, by successive developments, cellularly, like a laborious mosaic.”
Mural by California artist Chor Boogie
After that last one, the only thing I could think of were the “mosaic eyes” that sit behind the Wish Boutique parking lot in my Little 5 Points ‘hood. Was the Boogie Blogger watching me … or could it be Anaïs? ~ cS
28 Mar 2014 Leave a comment
in Uncategorized Tags: Art, Arts, Atlanta, Creative, Creativity, CultSTATUS, Cultural Arts, Culture, Dance, FlashBackFriday, Inspiring, Let Go, Letting Go, Literature, Looking Back, Love, Movies, Music, Mythology, Rabbits, Theater, Theatre, TheCultSTATUS, Writer, Writers, Writing
Hey All!
So if you read my TBT post yesterday, you were directed to this #FlashBackFriday “Prequel” for a more in-depth-stream-of-consciousness accounting of how I came up with my new CultSTATUS logo. If you just happened to check out this post – and you’re wondering what the heck I’m talking about when I mention yesterday’s TBT post – don’t worry, I give a full accounting of the original story below. Check it out!
When I started this blog, three years ago, one of my first thoughts was that I needed to find an image to best represent my core message for CultSTATUS. I quickly fell in love with Veer and several other websites for their endless array of stock art, designs, and fonts. I spent hours, days, and weeks searching for the perfect logo to introduce CultSTATUS to the world. I was like Jason on his quest for the Golden Fleece. There’s still a folder, somewhere on my computer, filled with several hundred brave soldiers, er … pictures that didn’t survive the battle. I found rabbits to go along with the ones scampering around in my head. I considered sketches of music, music notes, and musicians. I even toyed with the idea of using Hieroglyphics or Sanskrit lettering to add the ‘Culture’ in CultSTATUS. There was inspiration, in vibrant living color, as far as the eye could see – or my mind could dream.
In the end, I chose the picture of a dancer in mid-leap which has been our official profile picture on Facebook ever since. I love this picture. It spans just a moment in time, but offers up so much potential for all the moments that come before and after The Dancer’s leap. It is that potential which grabbed me the most. I wanted to express, with CultSTATUS, all the possibilities that are out there for committed artists. The Dancer has shared that message perfectly for the past three years. And yet. I’m sure you know where this is going. I’m thinking it might be time to let Her die in favor of a new Heroine. Why? Well, now would be a good time to take that ThrowBack trip down memory lane. Not just a three year trip, though. More like thirteen years.
I was seventeen and a Senior in High School. It was late Fall or early Winter in New York and my dreamers heart was gearing up for the makings of one of my favorite memories. I was walking to the front of my apartment building with my parents and two sisters. It was after ten o’clock at night and bitter cold. For some reason, the thought occurred to me that I should stop in the middle of the street and look up at the clear night sky. I don’t know why I felt this urge. I despise the cold. I’ve always dreaded Winter weather; and I never, under any circumstances, stop walking to check out the scenery while I’m in the cold. Maybe it was because my father had recently bought a small telescope as a hobby? I guess that’s possible, but it sounds like a weak explanation to my own ears.
What I saw in that night sky isn’t very surprising. I saw stars. But what caught me off guard was that I could see lots of them. And I could see them clearly. Living in the smog infested city, I wasn’t used to seeing so many stars all at once. I paused a few seconds longer so my eyes could really focus. I wondered if I might be able to decipher any patterns up there. The big dipper and little dipper constellations were supposed to be pretty easy to find, right? Sure enough, when I took my time, I could see order in the glittering chaos. There were three stars in close succession to each other, angled on a slant, and they were anchored above and below by two more stars at each end.
Now like I said – at seventeen years old, I wasn’t very familiar with the night sky or astronomy, but I was one heck of a Pop culture aficionado! The three stars angled on a slant immediately made me think of the popular Will Smith movie, Men In Black, and all of its’ references to Orion’s Belt. I took one last glance and then rushed to catch up with my family who were inside the building already. When we got upstairs, I told my dad what I thought I’d found. He agreed with my first thought that it was probably just the big dipper. That was the only constellation either of us had ever heard anyone talk about as being so easy to spot in the city sky. We decided to use his telescope software to check our theory, just in case. When my father typed our location into the computer and brought up an image of what should be visible in the sky that night, I got a big surprise. It really was Orion and his Belt. I had found and accurately identified a constellation all on my own!
The rush of excitement I felt in that moment was addictive. I was hooked. Every chance I got, after that night, I could be found standing in the middle of the street looking up at the sky searching for Orion. My parents noticed the habit and decided it would be the perfect graduation present. They researched one of those National Star Registry services and placed an order to have one of the stars in the Orion constellation registered in my name. That’s right, there’s a star in the upper section of Orion’s humerus bone that belongs to Yours Truly – Constance Sherese!
I’ve loved stars ever since.
Flash forward three years and I was a Junior in college… well, more like a Lower Sophomore. I was struggling with my Business Management degree because I spent all my time drawing sketches in the campus radio station instead of going to class. But, I digress. Tattoos were quickly becoming all the rage for me and my friends and, although I was a total chicken, I was completely obsessed with the idea of getting one. But it had to be something cool. Something original. And something meaningful for me on a personal level (if only so I wouldn’t have to hear my mother say ‘I told you so’ ten years later when I hated it). Side note: Are these criteria starting to sound a little familiar to you? Hmmm.
Right away, I thought of getting a star tattooed discreetly on my neck. But all the people I saw with star tattoos seemed to have those tacky “triangle-cut-out-kindergarten-stencil-star-of-david” stars. No offense to all the deep spiritual meaning behind the Star of David, but I had been picturing something more realistic like the stars I had seen in the night sky when I spotted Orion. Think: “glittery-thin-pointed-light-radiating-star-of-bethlehem” stars. I asked around and “They” all said that what I wanted wasn’t possible. They claimed the cut-out stars were the only thing a tattoo artist could draw on my skin and I needed to stop being so picky. It was 2004 and apparently tattoo “artists” hadn’t fully honed their craft yet? I decided to let some time pass before I made such a big commitment. Yes, I chickened out.
Well, a few years passed and I had flunked out of college. I was lacking direction and looking for something or someone to occupy my time. Falling “in-love” with an old flame from High School seemed to fit the bill. Once again, my mother warned that I would regret it. But this time I refused to let any time pass. Where had playing it safe gotten me? No degree in the “safe” Business field. No career in the “unreliable” Artistic field. This guy was The One and I wasn’t about to let another golden moment pass me by. I packed my bags and moved to Atlanta to be with the man I loved. Yes, I moved to a new city for a boy.
I got to this great city and, as you can probably guess, he changed his mind. Decided I wasn’t what he wanted. And stopped returning my phone calls. I was devastated. I had finally taken a risk – stepped out on a limb… no, jumped off a freaking cliff – and the bastard had changed his mind! I could only imagine what my mother would say. But I’m very much like my mother. Especially when it comes to her stubborn streak. I cried, listened to sad love songs a la Jill Scott, Sara Bareilles, Corinne Bailey Rae, and Sinead O’connor, and wallowed in self pity for months. But I didn’t leave. I refused to leave. Getting on a plane and going home with my tail between my legs just wasn’t an option. In part, because I’m stubborn, but more so because I couldn’t quite convince myself that jumping off a cliff had been the wrong decision.
Jumping off that cliff had been the most free I’d felt in a long time. The boy was a jerk, yes. But maybe that jerk was supposed to play a role in something bigger for me. Maybe he wasn’t the something to occupy my time, but the someone to lead me to The Something that would define my time. I couldn’t explain it, but my head was buzzing with images and ideas – they hadn’t introduced themselves yet as The Rabbits – reminiscent of the classic struggle between Right and Wrong, Good and Bad. I thought of the biblical story of the fallen angels who gave up heaven to pursue Love – or Lust, depending on how you look at it. I thought of the Dr. Faustus play I had acted in during one of my last semesters at college. Why did there always have to be a choice? Why were things always so black and white? Where was the “vibrant living” color?
But that’s when my Pop culture trivia skills kicked in again and I thought of the 1998 movie City of Angels. The acting was terrible, Nicholas Cage was worse, and the ending made me want to throw my shoe at the television screen. But I addoooorrree all things Meg Ryan and you already know what a sucker I am for cheesy romances. So the movie was easy to pluck from my mental reserves. I thought about the concept that there was still a purpose to Nicholas Cage’s “falling”, even if Meg Ryan didn’t live to be that purpose. Then I remembered that the story of Dr. Faustus has many versions also. We performed an adaptation of Christopher Marlowe’s play, but my professor had talked about another version that actually provided a happy ending for the deal-making-doctor. The Wolfgang von Goethe play imagined more than just a Yes or No choice. It imagined a deeply layered and human story line that gave Faustus the freedom to explore his loves and passions without fear of punishment.
Suddenly I knew what my meaningful tattoo would be. It had been at least three years since I seriously thought about it, but I knew without a doubt what I wanted. I pictured an angel. At once, both falling and rising from heaven. She was stretching out one arm. Reaching upward. There were undertones of the Michelangelo masterpiece “The Birth of Adam”. But she wasn’t reaching towards God. She was reaching out for… Love. I decided to “personify” Love as love-birds. Tons of them. Fluttering in disarray all around My Angel. She would be giving up heaven to chase after love. It would be painful. Her wings would be burned off as she entered the earth’s atmosphere. It would be her punishment. How would I depict heaven? A massive star above/below her feet. But it couldn’t just be about the lost Love. Not the loss of some boy as my love, anyway. It had to be about the loss of so many of my True Loves. My passion for art and music and dance and creativity. It had to be about the joy in jumping off a cliff to win back those Loves. And now… love-birds seemed too easy also. Too one dimensional. I’d make them tiny hearts with golden wings. And I’d have My Angel wearing a ballerina skirt. She would be en pointe and in the middle of a classic pirouette. There would be Dance in this love story. There would be a happy ending too. Those winged-heart love-birds would still be in disarray all around My Angel. But like the night I first saw Orion, there would be order in the chaos for anyone who took the time to let their eyes focus. When looked at from just the right angle, the heavenly star and love birds would be connected to form a crucifix and rosary beads that were wrapped around My Angel. She wouldn’t be choosing Love instead of God. She would be reborn through God because of her Love!
Can’t you just picture it? Don’t worry, no one else could either. I discovered this a few months later when I went back to New York for a visit. It was late 2007, I’d noticed that people were starting to get more detailed tattoos, and I thought my problems were solved. I could definitely find someone to draw my Star of Bethlehem now! I spent an afternoon hanging out with one of my BFF’s, Lourdes, and decided to share my design. Her first question was: “So, what are you Catholic now?” Her second question was: “And where exactly are you getting this tattoo on your body? That’s a lot of detail to fit into a single drawing!”
In New York, I like to say that everyone is Catholic and no one is Catholic. There are rosary beads, statues of Mary, and ‘Bless This House’ stickers as far as the eye can see, but very few people are the truly in-your-face Catholics depicted on T.V. So, it really hadn’t occurred to me that my design would come across as deeply “religious.” I was not Catholic. And my intent with the rosary beads and references to God had simply been to create a general hint at the concept of two distinct choices in life. The Good, Right, “Expected” choice versus the Bad, Wrong, “Self-Satisfying” choice. A struggle that seemed to be at the root of all my commitment issues.
As for her question about where I would put the tattoo, that did give me pause. But only for a moment. I quickly decided it would look best on the inside of my left wrist. Still somewhat discreet, but perfect to add the illusion of rosary beads wrapped – not just around My Angel – but also around my wrist. I brushed off my friends’ concerns and continued with my plan. I would find a tattoo artist, tell him my idea, and have my permanent testament to this growing-up experience.
A little over a year later, I was back in the Tri-State area to visit my other bestie, Reisa. She was looking for her first apartment and we decided to commemorate the weekend by getting tattoos together. She got a scorpion on her shoulder and I thought I would finally get My Angel. But, once again, I was deemed ahead of my time. Drawing a heavily stylized star was no problem these days, but no way could my artist get so much detail on the tiny space that was my inner wrist. Especially without so much as a sketch to guide him. I still thought I could just walk in, tell him what I wanted, and receive an immediate spark of recognition in his eyes as my reward.
I settled on an equally meaningful script phrase tattooed on my front right hip bone. Inspired by the Ziggy Marley album of the same name, I still love my ‘Love Is My Religion’ tattoo to this day. But I hadn’t given up on My Angel just yet. I went back to Atlanta and recruited the help of one of my girlfriends with a background in Graphic Design. I thought she would be just the right person to sketch my idea. Within a few days, this too had flopped.
Her sketches were beautiful, but she had drawn an angel with faerie wings when I’d imagined a more gothic style. Her angel was in profile, while I had envisioned My Angel either facing forward or away from the viewer all together. Her angel was flat-footed where My Angel was supposed to be en pointe. And all this, before we’d even begun to discuss the more intricate details like references to The Birth of Adam or the winged-heart love-birds that did/didn’t look like rosary beads. I thought maybe I could save the endeavor if I drew a small rough draft of what I had in mind and then let her take over from there.
What I discovered was something that’s probably been screaming at all of you throughout this entire post. I discovered that my “rough draft” sketch was good. Really good, in fact. But, of course, it would be. I spent all my time in college drawing sketches and wishing I’d followed my dream to pursue a career in the Arts. I didn’t have a degree in Graphic Design, but I had the same natural talent and an advantage in that the Angel was my personal vision. How did I expect anyone to draw something that only I could truly see?
I spent the next six months perfecting My Angel with revision after revision. Once again, I was Jason on his noble quest. When I finally had something I felt was worthy of turning over to a tattoo artist, it had been over two years since the idea first came to me. It was late 2009 – early 2010, the economy was sinking lower with each day, I was out of a job, and sadly I didn’t have a spare three hundred bucks lying around to pay for my finished concept. I thought I would just put it off until I could “catch my breath” financially. But catching my breath would take another few years. Somehow, more important responsibilities just kept popping up and I never found my way back to it.
Of course, my highly original concept became not-so-original with the passing of time; and suddenly several of the very same friends that I had approached for help with my drawing, were now getting self-designed tattoos on the inside of their own wrists. I had let the moment slip past me all over again and I didn’t know what I should have done differently, but clearly I was falling back into old habits. Worst of all, was the feeling that even if I got my tattoo at this point, I would just come off as a band-wagon follower of the trend now that everyone was doing it. I let some more time pass to decide if I even wanted Her anymore.
Flash forward to the present, and I’ve been in the midst of my own personal quarter-life-crisis part deux (I had the first melt down, right on schedule, as I approached my 25th birthday). Now, leading up to my 30th birthday, many of the same recriminations and self doubts have been resurfacing. But this time around I’d like to think I’ve learned a few things, albeit a slow learning. For one thing, there’s all that talk I did earlier about the possibilities waiting out there for committed artists. It would seem that I need to follow my own advice. Instead of worrying about what other people will think, or measuring my accomplishments by some precise timeline, I just need to be committed to the process and open to the potential for what might be.
With that in mind, I’ve begun to re-imagine My Angel as more than just a tattoo. Maybe it’s not that I have commitment issues. Maybe I don’t need to be worried that I did something wrong or somehow let the moment pass me by. Maybe there was just more to the process and I couldn’t fully see Her true potential yet. She was never meant to be a tattoo for me alone. She needed to be more than just My Angel. She needed to be shared with the world.
So it is my honor to unveil the new and permanent CultSTATUS logo: The cS Angel. The thought has occurred to me to turn Her into a full “Welcome to Your World” mural with even more layers and dimensions (I could really have some fun toying with all the possibilities for a mural!) So yes, I may engage in some artistic “tweaking” down the road, but for the most part this is it. And is it just me, or is she not that far off in her looks from our first logo, The Dancer? Maybe that Heroine didn’t have to die after all. Maybe she’s just been reborn in a better, fuller form! ~ cS
05 Mar 2014 Leave a comment
in Uncategorized Tags: Accept, Acceptance, Art, Ash Wednesday, Boundless, Catharsis, Cathartic, Creative, Creativity, CultSTATUS, Culture, Elizabeth Taylor, Film, Give, Giving, Let Go, Letting Go, Literature, Looking Back, Lupus, Marriage, Movies, Novel, Play, Poetry, Recieve, Theater, Theatre, TheCultSTATUS, Therapeutic, Therapy, Writer, Writers, Writing
I’m working on letting go. I’ve been working on letting go for several months, actually. And probably – in recurring cycles – for several years. But letting go is hard. In part, because it feels so counter productive for accomplishing all the things I want to do. Which, I guess, is why I keep coming back to it.
I’m writing a novel. And a play. and this blog. I’m building my CultSTATUS brand with a website and Facebook page. I’m curating exclusive events in the Cultural Arts. I’m building a network of creative sponsors and contacts. I work a full time job. I make the daily effort to manage my Lupus and my overall health. I try to have a life. And every once in a while, there are those rare moments when I don’t just try to have a life, I actually manage to have one! I spend time with girlfriends and extended family and my husband. Oh dear lord, I Forgot About My Husband!!!! No, I didn’t really forget my Salomon. But there are those days when I worry that I’ve placed him last on my never ending list of To-Do’s. Please tell me y’all have a never ending To-Do list too. ‘Cause it can get really crazy in my head sometimes. Like, talking to myself in the bathroom for half an hour in my Bronx girl voice while the hubby contemplates breaking down the door to save me from intruders, only it’s just ‘lil old Me Myself & I in there. Yea, I’m a little crazy some days.
But every time I let go, it comes back to me ten fold. My sanity included! When I stop trying to fix, force, control, and pin down everything… It all falls into place. And then I feel boundless! ‘Boundless’ is my new word for the day, FYI. I used it in passing while I was on the phone with my dad earlier and it stuck with me. I didn’t plan it or strategically guide the conversation so I could use it in a sentence. Yes, I have done that before. And so have you – don’t lie! But seriously. When I haphazardly said the word ‘boundless’ today, it was the most inspired I’ve felt in a long time. I felt like I really am a novelist, business woman, entrepreneur. I’m reminded of a joke about a dog named Jett… Then again, never mind. Jett is a great dog, I’m sure, but a joke about a dog could never compete with the sheer genius of that one word. Let’s say it together. Boundless!
The bottom line is this: letting go makes room for more. And I’ve got so much more to give.
*Note* I’ve been fine tuning this post for most of the day. Crafting my Opus, if you will. That’s right, I said ‘Opus’. Opus is tomorrow’s word for the day. What? Anyway, (said in my Bronx girl voice) I got to the line above, in what had to be my fifth read through, and suddenly thought to myself ‘That’s funny. I said give…’
Now, like I said, I’ve been working on letting go for a long time. So, separate from all the spiritual and religious implications, there is personal value to be found in this process. And there’s nothing wrong with that. But it has to be acknowledged that today is Ash Wednesday (the start of the season of Lent) and this Holy Day among many Christians – myself included – is all about letting go on an even deeper level.
The purists would say it’s all about mortality. And the purists would be right. Sorta.
But there are a few images that come to mind when I think of Ash Wednesday, and the one that rabbit-in-my-mind ‘hops’ out at me the most is from a promotional poster for Elizabeth Taylor’s 1973 movie Ash Wednesday. I know. Elizabeth Taylor films don’t exactly scream piety or repentance. I mean, just look at the poster for yourself.
Not a smudge of ash to be found on her gorgeous little forehead. And let’s not even talk about that string of pearls she’s so blithely toying with. My materialistic heart is beyond green with envy. Still, it’s dear old Liz that taught me the most about Ash Wednesday and the power of letting go. If you haven’t seen the movie, here’s a brief summary from Roger Ebert. Better yet, rent it on Netflix and see it for yourself. It’s not exactly an Oscar worthy performance, but it’s one of my true love’s as movies go, if only for it’s train wreck cheese fest of glamour and melodrama. Think Mahogany and The Way We Were.
The basic storyline though develops into the tragic conclusion that Elizabeth’s character never learns how to let go. Her husband is having an affair. She is aging. She doesn’t feel attractive anymore. So she decides to fix things. She has a face lift along with several other cosmetic procedures. She goes to a private resort to “get away from it all”. She has an affair to rebuild her self esteem. She sits and waits endlessly for her philandering husband to show up so she can make him jealous/ win him back. And in the end, she doesn’t even get the chance to confront him the way she’d planned because he arrives and immediately dumps her. He hardly even notices the changes in her physical appearance! When I tell you it’s tragic y’all. I mean it’s bad. Downright cringe-worthy in fact. But it’s like a train wreck that I can’t stop watching because I see the humanity in it. Separate from all the moral implications of her affair, and the “rightness” or “wrongness” of her choice to have plastic surgery. I really just want to give her a hug and tell her that she’s doing these things for all the wrong reasons. All the fixing, forcing, controlling, and literally pinning [her face] won’t make things right, because it’s already broken. She needs to just let go. And maybe if she let go of the diamonds and pearls [or maybe just the philandering husband] she could see that. The material things aren’t “wrong”, and who among us hasn’t held on to someone or something much longer than we should have, all in the name of “fixing” it? But it rarely ever works. And that’s what Elizabeth Taylor taught me about the importance of Ash Wednesday. It’s all about acceptance. Acceptance of the good, the bad, the passing of time, the aging, and even death (of relationships and people). Letting go. And the oozing glamour didn’t hurt either!
P.s. Liz’s birthday was this past Thursday, February 27, 2014. She would have been 82 years old!
P.p.s. BOUNDLESS!!!
18 Aug 2013 Leave a comment
in Uncategorized Tags: Art, Atlanta, Dance, Exploring, Georgia, King Plow Arts Center, Lean In, Literature, Marietta Street, Music, Struggle, Studio Space, Tourist, West Midtown
A few weeks ago, I was in the midst of pre-wedding chaos trying to finalize a stream of last minute details. It was beyond wet and soggy outside, I had two major appointments to go to after work, and no access to a car.
Yeah, it was about to be one of those days.
But I had just finished writing my post about Where The Rabbits Have Been Hiding and had prepared myself to “push through the struggle” for the sake of checking several things off my to-do list that absolutely HAD to get done. Admittedly, I did have to give myself a little pep talk. I thought, “Constance, it’s not like you haven’t taken the bus a million times before, so forget about the fact that you’ve gotten more than a little spoiled with regular access to a car, it’s time to get back to your roots and tough it out. Let’s go!”
Cheesy, I know, but it served it’s purpose. I went online, looked up the bus routes and times that I would need to connect to, and planned out my full trip. Of course, nothing went according to that plan.
I got stuck at work five minutes later than I wanted, the clock on my computer jumped ahead five minutes, and the combined effect left me scrambling because I thought I’d just missed my first bus.
I frantically started walking up the block trying to figure out a way to still make it to my first appointment on time. I vaguely remembered that the bus I needed made several stops near my job. I may have missed the closest one, but if I could run up ahead to the next, I might be able to catch it. I started out in a full sprint – Jackie Joyner Kersee didn’t have nothin’ on me! I made it five city blocks in under two minutes flat, and was just beginning to congratulate myself on a job well done, when the passing thought occurred to me that I wasn’t completely sure this was the location of the next stop!
I mean, I was almost sure. I’d glanced at the bus map and it definitely mentioned something about Spring Street, but was it the corner of Spring & Marietta Streets exactly? I couldn’t remember. Ten minutes later, there was no need to question my memory any longer. No bus had ever arrived and I was even more late than when I started.
I didn’t know what to do at this point, but I couldn’t just stand around waiting for a miracle, so once again I went into “JJK” mode, and started sprinting. Within five more blocks, I was covered in sweat (okay, so I’m no Olympic athlete after all) and the hem of my pants were soggy from the rain. Leave it to Atlanta weather to be disgustingly hot and torrential downpour raining at the same time. The thought had occurred to me more than once so far that this entire situation was beyond comedic in its absurdity.
Well, almost. If it were an episode of “New Girl” instead of my life.
It seemed almost definite that I was going to miss my first appointment, but I still had that whole “push on, through the struggle” mantra ringing in my ears and I couldn’t bring myself to give up just yet. Ten minutes later, I got a little miracle after all. The sound of an approaching bus made me turn around just in time to see my saving grace pulling up like something out of a dream. I promise you, it was epic. The skies parted and there were doves.
Okay, maybe I’m being a little over dramatic, but seriously, you had to be there.
I still haven’t figured out how the exact bus I needed managed to arrive at that moment – was the driver extremely late? was I ahead of schedule and I didn’t know it? did I channel my inner athlete and get 20 minutes ahead of the bus after all? I’m almost positive that last one was a “no” – but whatever the reason, five minutes later I was pulling up to my stop three blocks away from my appointment.
Of course, there was no direct Marta access to the front of the building I was going to; but after everything I’d already been through, I thought that walking three more blocks would be no big deal. Again, I was wrong. If it had been torrential downpour raining earlier, what I experienced in the next few minutes was easily a re-creation of Noahs great flood. By the time I arrived, it wasn’t just the hem of my pants that were soaked but my entire outfit.
My destination was the King Plow Arts Center for a paid business meeting, but I was in serious danger of missing the opportunity. I’d been splashed by passing cars, dunked in massive puddles, and was completely unfit to be seen. I was already five minutes late, and now I needed to stop at a restroom just to make myself presentable. Once again, I didn’t know whether to laugh or to cry.
Ironically, my business meeting was not directly arts related, so having never been to the campus before, I had no idea I was at The King Plow Arts Center. The complex is a large one, so it took at least another ten minutes to find the exact office I was looking for, but I’d realized where I was by now, and was beginning to see a ray of sunshine in this dreary day.
Surprisingly, my colleague was still willing to meet with me, and even better, when I finished the meeting I spent the next twenty minutes exploring the site. By the time I left, the sun had come out for good and I had a three block trek waiting for me to get back out to the nearest Marta stop. I arrived just in time to see the bus pass me by, but somehow I couldn’t muster up the angst to be as upset about it as I should have been.
I like to think of myself as “in the know” when it comes to most of the major art venues in Atlanta, but although I was aware of Midtown West and Marietta Street as an arts district, I’d never taken the time to truly explore the area. I decided that missing the bus to my next appointment gave me the perfect opportunity to play “tourist” for the day and focus on the little details.
I walked past junk yards, the Atlanta Department of Water Works, abandoned lots, and Christmas lights decorated shacks. In the process, I fell in love with this amazing city all over again, and found myself wishing I were the type to walk around with a professional camera around my neck at all times. Instead, my cell phone would have to make due.
An hour later, I finally dragged myself up to the entrance of my second appointment just in time to see another bus roaring past me. This time I didn’t have to think twice about what to do. I laughed out loud!
03 Aug 2013 Leave a comment
in Uncategorized Tags: Art, Barbra Streisand, Culture, Dance, Film, Funny Girl, Literature, Love, Marriage, Music, Romance, Theatre
“Sadie, Sadie married lady
See what’s on my hand?
There’s nothing quite as touching
as a simple wedding band!”
Babs sure knew what she was singing about. These first two weeks of married life have been wonderful! And yes, the groom was definitely prettier than the bride… especially with these chipped up nails of mine (I promise they were fierce for the wedding though!)
I would continue with all the many ways we complete each other, need each other, love each other, drive each other, feed each others dreams souls wishes desires, and all the rest of those lovely descriptions that go into waxing poetic. But I’m pretty sure you can just see it on us. So without further ado… Introducing the new Mr & Mrs Mercado! Ain’t we cute?
16 Jun 2013 Leave a comment
in Uncategorized Tags: Art, Culture, Dance, Education, Globalization, Inspiring, Literature, Music, Travel
I started this blog over a year ago as an invite for all of you to follow along on my journey to create CultStatus. An inside connection to all things Culture, Art, Literature, Dance, Music, and general Inspiration for the masses. I wanted it to feel like a “Welcome to Your World” for all us creative types out there looking for a home. I created a Facebook Page, Twitter Account, Website, and more.
But then Life happened. And it started feeling like too much too soon. Too much good and bad and busy and running and… Suddenly the million and one “bunny rabbit” creative ideas running around in my head seemed like more of a burden than a blessing.
Bottom line, I wasn’t ready. Wasn’t committed enough. I failed.
The good news is that everyone fails. Unless, of course, you’re Thomas Edison, who said “I have not failed. I’ve just found 10, 000 ways that will not work.” (You can thank the nerdy fiancé for that quote).
But for the rest of us, there’s no escaping the inevitability of failure. Or at the very least, finding 10, 000 “ways” of our own to learn what Edison already knew. That pushing on through the struggle is the only way to succeed. All the greats have done it. But just like them, the ups and downs of life have fueled me and better inspired me to start again. So what have the rabbits been up to?
Well, I fell in love. And juggled a long-distance relationship. And traveled. And fell in and out and back into touch with artistic friends across the world. And managed a full time job – “Life” at its finest. And went to plays and art exhibits and film festivals and workshops and book festivals and Goat Farm interpretive dance shows and so much more across this beautiful city of Atlanta that I call home.
And lost my sister in death. And got engaged to my best friend. And found out I have Lupus, one week after I found my dream dress. And started planning an out-of-state wedding on a six month timeline. And reading Lean In along with the rest of the world (It’s Amazing, go get it!). And now, 35 days before my wedding. Now, when I’m just trying not to lose my mind from all the rabbits. Now. I decide to start again.
Why? Because in spite of all the good moments that should have motivated me to keep going; it’s been the times of greatest struggle and pain and fears about the future that have inspired me the most. I have thrived on those feelings. And it doesn’t hurt that I’ve got an amazing support system in my fiancé, family, and friends.
So here I am starting over.
My first two initiatives? Making Lupus awareness, education, and fund raising an ongoing part of the CultStatus mission.
And giving you the creative goodness I know you’ve been craving. The nugget of inspiration that keeps jumping out at me: Finding beauty in the struggle. I think I’ll start with that theme.
Are you ready? Let’s see where this goes…
RabbitsInMyMind 
