This is a Super-Selfie piece about a particular type of heartache: the shame and self-loathing that comes with having put up with too much for too long, a poor investment in a shift that would have never come, and never will.
This piece actually transitioned me from one state of mind to another, from victim to warrior… pain filed under lesson, emergence of a more informed self, the inevitable strengthening from what didn’t kill me. I found this Selfie-Superheroine buried inside me and dusted her off. Together we decided to leave it all behind and explore the world together.
Apparently Jellyfish are an epidemic! Because the piece struck a chord and is being shown in both San Diego and San Francisco in the following two shows:
Sexism: A Touchy Subject, 2015 Arc Gallery, San Francisco
STRIP: Caricatures, Satire and The Funnies, 2015 The Studio Door, San Diego
This Friday night’s opening in San Diego corresponds with ComicCon, and I can’t wait to meet the other artists and comics enthusiasts. And I will get to see some dear friends!
In San Francisco the climate will be very different, having been juried by the South Bay Area Women’s Caucus for Art. What an honor!
I am completely humbled to have been selected by judges who represent such a broad spectrum of human interests!
This collection is my very first foray into oils, both practice and passion. They are portraits of a vintage underbelly: originators, envelope-pushers, society’s fringe… fearless entertainers pressing against the boundaries of society’s puritanical views.
I had a great time at the opening of “Field of Vision” and the Red Brick Center for the Arts in Aspen last Thursday. A great big thank-you to my friends and family who came to support me and my work, and to the curator, Angie Callen, for including me in a selection of very diverse and talented artists of all media. Thank you to the Board of Directors for your esteemed dedication to the Arts.
I met some really wonderful people and reconnected with a few familiar faces. It’s so lovely to show in Aspen, the town where I spent half my youth.
I have eleven pieces in the show, all images from the summer of 2013 in the Basalt Community Garden. There, at dawn’s break, is where I formed a relationship with the life cycle of the flower and its beautiful ebb and flow of three seasons.
Here I am with ex-Aspen Sheriff Bob Braudis.
The new Aspen Sheriff, Joe DiSalvo, is no stuffed shirt either.
My brother, Seth Berley, with his squeeze, Erika.
Catching up with Stascha and Stefan Kaelin, lifelong friends of Dad.
My Mom was in town for the celebration.
Curator Angie Callen is awesome.
Regret is something I have no desire to cultivate. To live life in the present, to be mindful, thoughtful, and deliberate… that’s the goal. I don’t think most people go into something with the well-developed intention of hurting or taking from another. I believe most people operate from a place of survival, and from that place it’s nearly impossible to make well-considered choices, let alone separate emotion from practical matters. From survival there is no action, only reaction, the breeding ground for regret, if ego backs off long enough for regret to even take root.
Regret for missed opportunities? One who got away? A hare-trigger temper? Not me. What regret, then, do I have? They say everybody has them… I suppose I regret the way I saw myself when I was younger… how many years I wasted feeling inadequate because I compared myself to others, instead of honoring what I bring to the table. I regret giving myself away to people who could not appreciate me, instead of being patient and seeking out those who could, and then basing my own worth on the neglect of the broken. That’s about my only regret. Any others I have attended to… apologies, incompletes… I saw this tattoo on a woman’s forearm and asked what the English translation is. “No regrets,” she said with a grin.
When I received Josh’s photo in advance of the job in Las Vegas, I was transported to my giddy schoolgirl years, because he was so cute, so “my type” of a younger year. Yes, another time indeed, when the pleasurable agony of a crush was merely fleeting, and weighed no more than lipstick kisses on a napkin.
In grade school, high school, and in college… we always looked forward, and life was fun. This dance room at UNLV smelled like excitement and promise. When I walked into the room and spotted the chalkboard, I remembered the seventh grade, when I was made to write repetitively as punishment for something that wasn’t my fault…