Monday, May 26, 2014

Within the House of Sanity

Within the House of Sanity

When I was a child I used to pretend that my dolls could hear what I was saying


That inside their plastic and porcelain heads they had little doll brains


I used to think they were my friends


They watched over me...


They watched me...


They watched...


Within my House of Sanity...


Monday, April 28, 2014

Lost in the Darkness



Lost in the Darkness
by 
Clara Wilson

Do not attempt to pacify me with words
I will turn and walk away
Ignorance spoken with a smile
Grinning like a menacing dog 
Go lay in a corner while i point and laugh~haha
Do not attempt to satisfy me with a line
Spoken with a smile, while recoiling like a Ssssnake
Spineless cowardliness at it's finest
Go lay in the corner pitiful soul
Lick your wounds and howl at the lonely moon
I will continue to point and laugh~sad, sad sorry man
Pursuer of all things broken, only to have as prey
A predator of flesh and full of lies, Stalking from behind the screen
Beware the bluest of blue,
Shining, blinding, hiding lust
Do not look deep lest you drown
It would be better to claw my own eyes out










Sunday, April 20, 2014

Do You Take Credit Cards?




   
     I was invited to show my work at the RAW Artists event in Seattle this last Thursday. It was quite the production to get everything printed and ready. Gathering all my items to put my display together, which turned out fantastic if I do say so myself. I traveled with a group of friends. We planned the trip to stay an extra day, Friday, to walk the town and take photographs.

     Before I get to far ahead of myself I want to talk about the night of the show, not what was taking place inside the venue, but outside. I went outside to have a smoke a few times and was instantly approached by someone asking if he could beat box for me. He didn't ask for money, he just asked for my name. I told him my name and he preceded to create a beat and rhythm with unique sounds, and he was very good. When he was done I said, "Hey man, that's pretty cool." He replied with, "Yeah, I know, that will be 5 bucks." He held out his hand expecting me to hand over cash. I was taken aback and told him I didn't carry cash and offered him a cigarette instead. He took the cigarette, not very graciously though, and mumbled something about me being a lieing bitch under his breath as he strutted down the street. My instant thought was what an ass!

     About an hour later i came out again for another smoke, yup i smoke. There was a man standing outside holding a sign. Now i am from the Spokane area so I am used to panhandlers and the people standing on corners holding their signs. I have seen many signs over the years.

~Will work for Food
~Lost my job, need bill money
~Wife pregnant, need diaper money
~Homeless Vet, any help appreciated

     The guy standing outside the venue this time had a sign i had never seen before. I walked around the corner to light my cigarette and held my camera up to snap a shot of him.


     I watched him for a minute while he staked his claim on the block by chasing away another man who showed up holding a plastic cup. I heard him telling the other man that he better keep on walking. I wondered if they all knew each other? Do they fight for the same blocks night after night? I asked him what he was hoping to get out of holding a sign like that. He didn't answer back. Don't let his smile fool ya, the guy was an ass too! I watched him get told over and over again to stand back from the entrance and exits of the venue because he was very "In your face" to the people coming and going from the event.

     Now don't get me wrong, I have met and encountered many jackasses in my time (remember I was married before), but none holding a sign like this expecting to get a handout. I will admit that I have lived a pretty sheltered small town life, but  it blows my mind to think that this works. Does holding a sign like this work? Do people really give him money?

     I saw this same guy the next day sitting at a corner near Pike's Place, holding the same sign. When we came up on the corner waiting for the street signals to change I asked him how his sign was working out for him and if I could take his picture. He said I could take his picture for 5 bucks, and now he needs money to feed his fat bitch! I concluded that I was over this guy and he was, in fact, just a jackass!

     

     I really try to practice not being judgmental. I don't know everyone's story. I have given money to many people in Spokane who stand on the corners with their signs. I don't always carry cash, but if I have it and the spirit moves me, I will give it away. In this day and age many people are just one missed mortgage payment away from being homeless.

     While walking around that day and seeing all the homeless, beggars and panhandlers I couldn't help but wonder what theirs lives were like when they were kids. Did they have a loving family and a home? Did they go to school and have friends and play? Were they wards of the State who never got a fair shake? I don't know. We just don't know. What I do know, is that regardless of circumstance, we are responsible for our behavior and how we interact with people.

     I saw many homeless people in Seattle that struck a chord in my heart. I could see their struggles in their eyes. I didn't see much anger, but I saw people who were alone. That feeling of being utterly alone in this world is one that I know all to well. You can be surrounded by hundreds of people and still feel alone. That is the part that makes me sad. That is what makes me open my purse and reach for a five. Not because I think giving them a little cash will change their situation, but because I can have that brief moment to look in their eyes and hopefully they can see in my eyes that I care. I can see that in people just as I can see it in myself.

     One lady came up to me, she was holding a sign that said she was deaf. We didn't speak any words but with a gesture of her hand I could tell she wanted a cigarette. I saw in her eyes that she was one of the ones that was alone, and lonely. I gave her a cigarette and she placed her hand on my arm as a gesture of thanks. We looked into each others eyes and we smiled. That is the difference, that is the humanity that I can feel. That is a human encounter, with touch, that means something. I didn't take her photograph, she will be engraved in my mind as a memory of a smile and a kind gesture.



     We came across an area at a local park where we could tell people slept there and it was a place to go. Empty beer cans and food wrappers on the ground. This was an old gasworks plant or something and there were very large pipes running through the building. Some had water pooled up around and underneath the piping. It was cold and damp. I stopped to take a photograph and noticed something underneath one of the piping structures. I crouched down on the ground and saw an old sleeping bag and two small bowls hidden underneath. I could tell this was someones "spot". I pulled my camera around to take a picture and a little dog came running into the frame.  He ran towards one of the bowls and drank what little water was left in it then took off running again. The sleeping bag was laying there with an impression of an adult who had recently gotten up. I could tell it had been slept in. I didn't want to be seen taking the picture so I snapped off a few shots then got up and left. I thought to myself, at least whoever the person was isn't alone, they have man's best friend to keep them company.



     We walked for a few hours. I took in the tall buildings and the rush of people having places to go and things to do. It seemed most of the local people had grown accustomed to panhandlers on the corners. They walk by, avoid eye contact and wave them off when approached. I looked at all of them, wondering what their story was. When was their last good meal? When was the last time they had a new pair of shoes? When was the last time someone told them they loved them or hugged them. Some were young men and women, maybe teenagers. You could see bodies huddled under coats or blankets. I couldn't even tell if they were adults or children at times. Or if they were alive or dead, huddled in an alley waiting to be found by someone who cared enough to stop and see if they were ok.



     I expected to spend the day in Seattle sight seeing and getting some fun street photography, instead this is where my spirit took me. I don't know when I will get back to Seattle again, but as my friend Cassie and I discussed, if they only took credit cards it would make it much easier to give to the ones who looked me in the eyes and told me their stories with a gentle smile....

     In reference to the sign at the top of my blog I am curious. Are they wanting to give their people away? Are they stating that they have freedom? Is it a unity of community? I don't know what the sign means, but it seemed like a good opening to my Blog post, so I used it....

What do you think it means?

~~Clara Wilson

    

   
   
   


   

   

Thursday, April 10, 2014

"We Didn't Have Much"


"We Didn't Have Much"





     There are little pieces of our childhood that stay with us, as a memory or an image frozen in time.
I am unsure how far back the human mind can go when it comes to our first memories. My memories are like little fragments, with no defining beginning and no definite end. Bits and pieces left in my mind over my 40 year existence. 

     It seems most of my fragments are not happy little bits of time, but moreso pieces of a puzzle leading to clarity into my current bouts of anxiety, trust issues and  feelings of self worth. My first "happy" memory I have retained was lodged somewhere between 8-9 years old. It is the other "fragments" that have embedded themselves in my mind. The ones that play over and over again in the form of still images running on a loop. There are some fragments that I still challenge the validity of, was it real, was it a dream? Perhaps if I didn't dream so vividly I could decipher fact from fiction, but who am I to challenge the memories of my inner child. 

     This image depicts one of my fragments, the 4th frame of many, running on the loop. I don't know what set her off that day. I am unsure if her explanation would even be valid, maybe she doesn't even remember. I have asked, but her answer wasn't one of sound reason. Nor was her reasoning strong enough for my inner child not to call bull shit and hold on to my fragment, my little piece of the puzzle, the broken child. 

     We didn't have much, my brothers and I, but what we had we cherished. My barbie dolls, their G.I. Joes and matchbox cars. We had our imaginations and we had our innocence. We had each other and a few acres to call our playground. I would float my barbie dolls down the creek on their inflatable miniature raft and pretend we were on a beach somewhere nice, I hadn't even seen a beach before but my mind knew they existed. My brothers would be over by the big tree stump, blowing up there matchbox cars with imaginary grenade launchers while holding their G.I. Joes. Pow, Pow, Pow I could hear them saying, Boom!

     On this day, the day my eyes took a still frame and layed it's foundation in my mind forever, she enters my fragment in a frenzy. I didn't see her light the match, but i smelled the smoke. In one frantic moment she entered the house and snatched up our escape from reality, our toys, the only things we had that made us feel like "normal" kids. Get them all and bring them to me she ordered. The tone of her voice would later be compared to the wicked witch in the Wizard of Oz by my brothers and I, if the wicked witch were to partake in strong spirits, such as tequila, vodka, whiskey or shine. 

     My younger brother and I handed over our toys, begging her not to burn them. Begging her to tell us why. Begging her to tell us what we did wrong. My older brother, as if he knew more than I, walked out with his arms full of his toys and gave them to her. He wasn't begging. He wasn't crying. He stood strong with an unbreakable look on his face. She snatched up our toys and flew out to the pit. We watched from the front door as our toys went up in smoke. One by one each of our dreams, pieces of our imaginations and our innocence were thrown into the flames. The mind of a 6 year old child , the mind of me, was in fact, broken. 

     We could see her, standing over by the flames, we knew she would just stand there and watch them burn. We knew she wouldn't come and comfort us, after all she was the witch and we thought she would want time to revel in her deed. 

     My older brother, the unbreakable one, gestured for us to follow him to the bedroom with his finger pressed to his lips, " Shhhh, don't let her know" he said as he lifted the blanket from the bed revealing underneath the bed frame. One barbie, one G.I. Joe and one matchbox car were tucked just under the bed. He knew something we didn't, he knew already what my younger brother and I had just learned. His fragments must have already been forming, he was older than us, he had seen the signs and was prepared.  He was unbreakable, or perhaps resiliently broken already. 

     Today, if someone asked me about my childhood, I wouldn't open with this story. I probably wouldn't end with this story either. Nor would I pillage my mind for anything in between. I would talk about our few acres of playground, the creek running through the back, my love of the land and I would simply say, "We didn't have much, but I have the memories"...
     

     

     

Saturday, March 15, 2014

Behind the Walls of Separation

A visual and poetic narrative of strength and separation.  
A broken marriage and family. 
An unshaken sense of self, being a mother and a beautiful strong woman























It was you who cast the stone that shattered everything
with your big hands and small mind
A mind that does not think
I do not need you, you have nothing to give
I take this first breath of many, that will be taken alone, and yet it fills me
I will not look over my shoulder
I have no desire to know what could have been 
I have seen enough already
I will carry on, carry on
I have not fallen, I have not jumped, i am not broken
And i will carry on, carry on
Until my ashes make me older than time, i will carry on
And if the answers are truly blowin in the wind then I will fly
You have not cut my wings with your big hands
And your small mind was never my enemy
I awaken every day with faith and my will to carry on
And carry on I will, with a passion
And you can cast your stones that shatter everything
in someone else's direction

Wednesday, March 12, 2014

Our Father's Chair





Close your mouth thin man, there is no more you can say
But take my hand as you try and find your way
There is no cold anymore that will chill your brittle bones
Only warmth will forever hold you, as if in my arms while i fever
And if this sickness of mine is enough i will carry you in my arms forever
And I will smile when you smile
And I will cry when you cry
And I will scream when you scream
I will share with the world your thoughts in your head
Please close your mouth thin man
I can hear when no words are spoken clearly
My soul is of your soul and we are bound that way, dearly
Rest now thin man in my arms whilst I fever
I will sweat your tears 
And they will shine and glisten for all to see
Close your mouth thin man, rest now thin man, sleep now thin man
And in my arms you will always be, endlessly near me

(for my Father)





Thursday, February 13, 2014

A Fracture in Time










~Can we feel isolated in such a vast space? Yes, we can, and many of us have...The Universe, our planet, our country, our state, our city, our homes, and lastly our minds. With the first and the last being most comparable. When we comprehend the vastness of our Universe we often question our individual importance. The same thing happens when we isolate our thoughts into negatives, self-doubt and the ever speeding passage of time. If you feel you have to isolate yourself, do so only for a short period of time, and spend that time in quiet conversation with your mind and your thoughts. I have wasted to many conversations with my thoughts trying to rationalize the irrational. I believe isolation, for short periods of time, can benefit the soul....just don't set up shop there, it can grow very dark~