I made the biggest mistake of my life. But now I am free from that mentally and emotionally abusive prison. Hallelujah!

Now, let’s talk about marriage! I’m not going to rant about gay marriage rights, because to me that seems like a no-brainer. Why the hell not? Besides, those that are the most belligerently homophobic are probably the ones with the strongest latent homosexual desires anyway. They are just incredibly amazing at living in denial, and as one-dimensional characters in the grand play that is life.

Disclaimer! If you are blessed to be happily married, or are about to be happily married, I think that is truly wonderful. Please do not take offense to my bitterness.

Honestly, what is marriage good for? Nothing, except for legal rights, really. The contemporary marriage tells the world “Hey, I want to be with this person at this point in my life…we’ll see about that three kids and 10 years later”. People change…they go in different directions. What you thought you wanted at 25 is probably different from what you will want at 35. And that’s just fine. We have got to stop the Disney fairytale approach to marriage.

I doubt most women would be willing to admit this, but I feel it’s true: One of the biggest reasons a lot of women (not everyone!!!) want to get married is for the wedding day (another reason, I feel, is the sense of it being something you “should” do, since everyone else does it). The “one” day in your life when you wear a pretty white dress and everyone lavishes you with attention and gifts. Cake and booze are a plus. I’m guilty of that. And the cake was AH-mazing!

We buy into the Disney fairytale because it is so appealing. A lot of us even go a step farther by layering the fairytale with additional stories of a “holy union”, “eternal love”, and “manifest destiny” (the latter is a sarcastic remark for those who don’t know me well). Marriage has a grandiose facade about it, but the pillar on which it sits is shaky, made up of layer upon layer of human-created stories.

Just because someone swears their undying allegiance to you before god and humanity doesn’t mean that you will never sever. I think some people look at marriage as a way to “lock down” a potential mate. But that’s bullshit. Marriage is not an end-all; nor should it be viewed as the end-game. I think a lot of people feel that having the ring on their finger will eliminate the stress of the relationship and that you have nothing to worry about…superficially you know that it will be rocky and tough, but deep in your heart you can’t know until you’ve gone through one of the many crucibles you will face while with that person. How you emerge is what really defines not only your relationship, but your individual selves, as well. Your relationship is not defined by how “magical” or “beautiful” your wedding day was. It is not defined by “how cute you look together”, or outsiders opinions of “how perfect you seem for each other”. Fuck that. What you do when problems emerge is the true demarcation of your character and partnership.

I know some people see it as noble when someone sticks with a problem-spouse. “They really get what marriage is about!” they’ll say. I respect their opinion, but I disagree. If someone is abusive or trapping you in a prison - get the hell out. If people admonish you for doing so, fuck them. Seriously, true friends want to see you happy, no matter what. Even if their own ideals about marriage are challenged by your decision. Mature friends can set that aside and support you.

In conclusion, I think the definition of marriage should be: Two people joining in a union for civil and legal benefits from the government. And nothing more. Ok, I’m done ranting now.

Finished the sketch of Ms Kate Winslet

Maya Angelou is a humongo inspiration to me, so I’m going to share ‘Still I Rise’…it is sublime

 You may write me down in history
 With your bitter, twisted lies,
 You may trod me in the very dirt
 But still, like dust, I'll rise.

 Does my sassiness upset you?
 Why are you beset with gloom?
 'Cause I walk like I've got oil wells
 Pumping in my living room.

 Just like moons and like suns,
 With the certainty of tides,
 Just like hopes springing high,
 Still I'll rise. 

 Did you want to see me broken?
 Bowed head and lowered eyes?
 Shoulders falling down like teardrops,
 Weakened by my soulful cries?

 Does my haughtiness offend you?
 Don't you take it awful hard
 'Cause I laugh like I've got gold mines
 Diggin' in my own backyard.

 You may shoot me with your words,
 You may cut me with your eyes,
 You may kill me with your hatefulness,
 But still, like air, I'll rise.

 Does my sexiness upset you?
 Does it come as a surprise
 That I dance like I've got diamonds
 At the meeting of my thighs?

 Out of the huts of history's shame
 I rise
 Up from a past that's rooted in pain
 I rise
 I'm a black ocean, leaping and wide,
 Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.

 Leaving behind nights of terror and fear
 I rise
 Into a daybreak that's wondrously clear
 I rise
 Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,
 I am the dream and the hope of the slave.
 I rise
 I rise
 I rise.

I forgot about this picture - taken in Charleston, SC in 2004 with a disposable camera. Remember those, kids?

I was trying to get a picture of the side garden between the houses, but the sun decided to add some magic to the picture. Thanks, sun! You’re the best.

Aw, flutterby’s

At the Smithsonian Butterfly exhibit. This one was flashing it’s bea-u-tiful colors

A good sense of humor is a must to get through shitty, shitty events. Luckily, I came well-equipped with an abundance of humor and fluency in sarcasm! Even divorce can be funny when approached the right way. For instance, the x refused to move out of our dog-friendly apartment (I was taking my dog with me - x always referred to her as mine, never ours) when it became apparent that we needed to separate. X’s rationale? “All my stuff is here! You even said that it’s mostly my stuff anyway!” True, I did, but that’s mostly because I’m a bit of a minimalist and x was a super spender. Besides, anything we bought was subject to x’s approval and x would sometimes resort to manipulation to control our consumer goods. I think it is also important to note here that x makes more than double what I did, and one cannot afford to live on my pitiful salary.

So that left me and my dog facing homelessness. X also told me that I couldn’t live in the dog-friendly apartment that I had found because x didn’t want to have to pay two rent bills. Um, what? That never made any sense to me for a number of reasons. Luckily, I was able to find someone to live with (through an acquaintance of an acquaintance). X didn’t help with the rent there, or offer any financial support. When I asked x for assistance on several occasions, x would equivocate and ramble off a bunch of excuses why x couldn’t help until next month. Funnily though, each month it was always ‘next month’.

I ended up being homeless in October for a few days and lived mostly out of my car. A saint let me stay at their place, but all of my crap was in my grandparents garage and my car. I asked x for help. I didn’t get any response. My super Moxie found me an apartment to live in in the meantime while searching for a dog friendly place to live. My dog lived with a wonderful foster family during this time.

X had sent me divorce papers in the mail after ignoring my existence for a few weeks and breaking at least a hundred promises. What is hilarious about this is that every time I asked x about a timeline for getting back together or whether x would consider marriage counseling, x’s classic response was, “I don’t want to make a promise I can’t keep.” Too bad, sucka! You (x) made a promise on 5.15.10 that you would always be there through rich and poor, good and bad, blah blah blah. Perhaps we should have had a clause that said, “unless one person decides that they want to live the life of Don Draper from Mad Men.” The humor in that is that x said last year before separation that Don Draper was ‘living the life’ in a completely serious and rueful tone. I’m 99.9% certain that x wants to live the life of a womanizer.

We’re getting to the biggest guffaw of all though. I filed for spousal support because I needed financial help and because of the ginormous disparity (DIS-parity, not at all parity!!!) in our incomes. Upon receiving the court documents, x contacted me after not speaking to me for over 2 months (during which I had my homeless stint). X tried to manipulate me and said that “I’ve always been willing to help!…I will always care about you!…Signing those divorce papers was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do”

L.O.L. All I could think was, ‘are you on crack?!’ It was hilarious.

Have y’all read The Winter of Our Discontent by Johann Steinbeck? If not I would recommend adding it to your reading list!

In addition to Hughes-ing it today, I’m going to share some Steinbeck, too. This particular passage from the book always stuck with me since the first time I read it. After reading it again a few weeks ago, it totally lit up for me with even more meaning.

“It isn’t true that there’s a community of light, a bonfire of the world. Everyone carries his own, his lonely own.

…

My light is out. There is nothing blacker than a wick. Inward I said, I want to go home - no not home, to the other side of home where the lights are given.

It’s so much darker when a light goes out than it would have been if it had never shone. The world is full of dark derelicts.

…

I had to get back - had to return the talisman to its new owner.

Else another light might go out.”

Someone very dear to me told me about a year ago, “I can see, and always have seen your light. I know you can’t see it now. I’ll hold onto that hope for you until the day that I can give it back.”

Today I would like to share two of my favorite poems by Señor Langston Hughes from his Dream Deferred montage. Everyone has at least one ‘dream deferred’. I think that as humans, we are automatically wired to fantasize about and idealize the ‘if only’s’ and the ‘what ifs’. Actually achieving your ‘dream deferred’ can be scary and riddled with anxiety; or conversely, initial elation can lead to disillusionment over time, too, as we say, “Hey, this is not my script! Things weren’t supposed to happen this way!” I feel that trying to live in the moment and not get caught up in our self-created illusions is one of the greatest challenges we face.

What happens to a dream deferred?

Does it dry up 
like a raisin in the sun? 


Or fester like a sore— 


And then run? 


Does it stink like rotten meat? 


Or crust and sugar over— 
like a syrupy sweet?



Maybe it just sags like a heavy load.



Or does it explode?

——-

Don’t let your dog curb you!
    

      Curb your doggie 
   

      Like you ought to do,


But don’t let that dog curb you! 
    

      You may play folks cheap, 
    

      Act rough and tough, 
    

      But a dog can tell 
    

      When you’re full of stuff. 
    

      Them little old mutts 
    

      Look all scraggly and bad,
    

      But they got more sense 
    

      Than some people ever had.


Cur dog, fice dog, kerry blue—


Just don’t let your dog curb you!

I’m taking advantage of the fact that my two friends Time and Effort swung by today to post the art I originally created this blog for. Time has been evading my calls and texts for weeks, and Effort is a fickle fucker. We are all together now, though, having tea and catching up.

Showing people my work is hard to do to but I’ve been forcing myself to do so, especially with the humility-inducing, teen years artwork. Doing so over the internet is easier, though, because I’m unable to desperately search your face for an expression of displeasure while viewing my artwork.

Once again, glare and blurriness to follow! I need to set up a ‘Meg needs a kick ass camera fund’. Any donors interested?!

I did this drawing of Natalie Portman - Black Swan last January (2011). I haven’t produced anything on par since then. I can attribute that to the panic I feel that I will never, ever produce anything better and that at the old age of 24 I reached my artistic pinnacle. Rationally, I know this is stupid. Emotionally, it is a very real possibility!

A lot of people who know me have seen this picture since I said to myself, “Self, we have got to stop hiding and show people stuff even if it sucks. Constructive criticism is always good, right?!” Thanks, self.

Holy glare, Batman! I’ll get better photos, promise. This is a copy of Monet’s ‘Cliffs at Etretat’ - a favorite of mine. I used cheap ass oil pastels and a lot of anger to produce this for a beginners drawing class I took in Fall 2010. I was a college graduate surrounded by freshman and sophomore’s. Eavesdropping was THE BEST!

Nextly, a self-portrait duo for the art class. We had to do a basic line contour drawing in pencil of ourselves using mirrors, rulers, paper viewfinders, and gusto. Then, we traced over the pencil on a different sheet using a sharpie. He wanted the contours to be closed, so no loose ends hanging out and being radical. The third step was to trace the sharpie outline using a light table and create a self portrait with style. We could use mylar patterns, so that’s why there are nice looking birds, roses, butterfly wings, and some straight geometric patterns on there. Otherwise it would look like a series of rectangles, flora, and fauna drawn by a caffeine addicted monkey.

I used black paper for this colored pencil drar-wing of my darg.

Black paper again - with white charcoal to do a geometric contour portrait. Too bad the subject is a cowardly, soulless monster. Oops, did I just type that?

In June 2010, I ventured into the world of acrylic paint after staying out for about 6 years prior. It was fun and produced the above picture; painted from a photo taken while on honeymoon with the above soulless monster. Oh shit, there I go again! Jeez

And lastly, a photoshop drawing I did of Mal from Inception last year.

My portfolio is such a ‘has been’. Sheesh. Thanks again for viewing!

Bis später! MM

So my beat-to-shit, flimsy, copper-colored AP art folder circa 2003 has been lugged about from place to place I’ve been living at since then (3 in the last nine months!) and I decided to dig some of that shit out today. Yes, shit. Instead of reminiscing about oily faces, awkward encounters, and lack of self-worth, I decided to photograph what was produced in that shit storm called senior year.

Disclaimer! Not only am I pretty bad at photographing photographs and pictures, my camera sucks a bit, too. Blurriness and glare to follow:

This is me, wearing a pair of my mom’s glasses (which were purple and awesome). Notice how I still don’t really have a grasp on the ‘draw what you see, not what you think you are supposed to see’ concept…so the eyes don’t have much depth to them and my eyebrows are too smooth and full. I also edited out my unibrow for vanity’s sake. This pose is so painfully emo, too. Shameful.

This was a fun side thing I did by carving out the groovy 60’s checkerboard pattern on a stamp, rolling ink on it, and voilà! Instantly adds 70% more funk to any art piece. Auf deutsch ‘Stoff für Zoff’ translates to ‘material/matter/stuff for trouble/trouble-making’. Oh, the angst!

This beaut was part of a collage triad. Note my dead cleverness with the nuclear cloud over the zoloft rock…for those who don’t know me well, that was facetious.

And finally, a self portrait that I did by using words as lines loooong before that stupid commercial for some death-in-a-bottle prescription came out that had all the people and surroundings made of words. In hipster speak, “I was using words as lines before it was cool”. Enough of that. This whole portrait doesn’t really look like me at all, especially the nose. I don’t know if anyone has a nose that flat. Don’t get me going on the rest. Perhaps you can see where my insecurities lie.

If you’ve made it to the bottom of this, thanks for viewing! And congratulations!…I may have become acutely ill from the cheesy teenager-y clichés. Bis später-MM