Desiderata

Just discovered Calm.com . It's pretty great. If you need some simple guided meditation, you will love this site. You can do increments of 2 min, 5 min and even up to 20 min meditations. Beautiful soundscapes and nature images are provided. Try it out, tell me what you think. Image via Kylie Johnston Photography .

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I was talking to Shane last night about what it's like working at Bergamot Station (the arts complex where my gallery is located) and the topic of potential new friends came up. There are about nine people I can think of off the top of my head that I would like to be friends with that work in the other galleries. I've been working at this location for almost 5 months and in that span I've started to say hello to these people by name, casually chat them up at the cafe, walk with them to get the mail or go to the bathroom and other common workplace niceties. It might sound silly, but I'm starting to seriously consider how we make friends as adults. It's definitely something worth pondering for a minute. Growing up, friends are handed to you on a silver platter in the form of neighborhoods, soccer teams, classmates, etc. Now, that silver platter is work; but when you work at a place where it's just you and one other person, you've gotta start looking for a b

Sometimes the drama is so intense you actually can't think of anything else. Every small conversation you have with acquaintances- -how was your long weekend?  sends you spiraling down the rabbit hole of fury, sadness and helplessness. One thought can send weepy, unwelcome tears down your face. When there is no solution to the problem it is that much more frustrating. Ultimately when there is truly nothing you can do about the issue, all you can do is distract yourself. Here's how I'm distracting myself today: 12 quotes by comedians for when you're feeling shitty at work or in your career. Just make some freaking swirls and get over it. Some Kimye nonsense to rot your brain: Kim changed her name to Kim Kardashian West . Here's Kanye being, well, Kanye . I'm thinking about getting some essential oils after work. Here's some for sadness:  Cypress, Frankincense, Grapefruit, Helichrysum, Lemon, Mandarin, Neroli, Orange, Rose, Sandalwood, and Vetiver

When I was young I lived here. I spent most of my time outside playing games in the cul de sac and participating in some version of sharks and minnows in the pool. Our neighborhood was filled with kids our age and life seemed limitless. There was a hill over there, that we weren't allowed to go up, but we did anyway. I'd sit in these oversized gutters that were always bone-dry, with my legs spread open wide as I overlooked our street: It was familiar and I felt safe. It was mine and it was my friends'--our little corner of the world.  I met Andrea when I was three years old. She came to the front door, flapping her hands like a bird and asked my mom if she would let me play outside with her. Together we made Indian reservations on her slope, recorded an improv cd that we still play to this day, prank called my mom pretending to be aliens, made crazy recipes because we were in love with boys, and drew maps of made up places. We occupied this intellectual, strange,

Make everything okay with the push of a button.

As I left my counselor's office last night, the last words she said to me were: "And, Diana... ....take care of yourself." It may seem simple, but sometimes the simplest things get so convoluted in my mind. One of the major issues I deal with in counseling is my tendency to overexert myself. Whether it's saying yes to too many things, feeling obligated to be at every event, making time for everyone then forgetting to shower, or pay parking tickets, or losing important documents, or missing appointments...I tend to put myself last very frequently and it's something I'm aware of and need to change. So tonight I took a leisurely trip to Trader Joe's. After I bought the whole store, I walked up to the parking lot on the roof. I took out a peach from the brown paper bag and leaned up against my car and ate that whole, glorious, juicy peach. The wind was warm, blowing through my hair. I listened to the cars drive by and the seagulls caw. There was no r

Installation shot at Mark Moore Gallery in Culver City, CA Allison Schulnik is one of my favorite artists. I love her work so much and have been dying to introduce you to her for some time now (that is, if you don't already know about her). Born in 1978 in San Diego, CA, Schulnik attended CalArts where she obtained a BFA in Experimental Animation. Her work repels and entices. The grotesque mixes with the innocent resulting in Shulnik's own personal mythology. Featuring characters like hobo clowns, mermaids, sad animals and humanoid beings, her multimedia works tell universal stories of triumph in those least likely. Once you get past what might initially seem haunting there lies a tale with Shakespearean influence (represented in his tragicomedies)--she places value on the misunderstood and marginalized, showing glimmers of hope through seemingly dark imagery. "ex•pose: Allison Schulnik" / installation view / solo exhibition, Laguna Art Museum, 2013 L

I know I said I would write a post about an artist a day. I have one that's nearly finished, but life got in the way. And by life I mean these enormous swollen welts on my face. Seriously. Look at this: I've been struggling with these welt like bug bites/allergic reactions for far too long now. But usually they are on my bra line or arms and legs. Today was the first day they appeared on my face. I was so bothered by it that I had to leave work and go to the doctor. I had a terrible one on my arm on Sunday and so he performed a punch box biopsy, which is kind of like a deep cookie cutter extraction that required stitches. He chose to do it in my arm so he wouldn't have to stitch my face up. How kind. I felt so woozy after the procedure. Seeing all the needles and feeling him tugging the stitches was a little too much for me.  In any case, I really had intended to post about Allison Schulnik today. I'll finish it up by tomorrow and start the art writi

Art historical retention and research. Art writing. Critical thinking. They are like any other learned skill. You need to continually practice them or they start to fade. Then when you finally get the courage to put pen to paper you've got scant to say and shit similes . Well, I'd like to start out small. I'm giving myself two weeks to write about a new artist every day. Someone up-and-coming, maybe even just finishing their MFAs. There are two reasons I'm choosing to focus on young artists. The first is that there is limited reading that one can do on an artist that maybe just graduated college. They are not in history books yet. They probably have a website and links to reviews of their senior project. I need to regain the skill of inferring, analyzing and dissecting works of art based on the visuals and available context alone. I need to remember what it's like to do original research. Maybe I'll even reach out to the artists personally. Young artists ar

I'm not even going to google this to see if it already exists, because I just came up with it right now and it feels so genius that I want to take full credit for it. There needs to be a website/forum about hobbits called "Tolkein about the Shire". Right?

It was one of those nights I'll remember fondly for quite some time. After a very long day at work I took a much needed shower; mostly an attempt to escape the boiling heat that had taken over California. After that luxurious, cool shower, I chilled out with a cold beer, slathered on lotion and popped on a tank top and shorts and headed to counseling. It was a great session. We talked about the fear and embarrassment associated with discussions about money--namely that of negotiating salary. We have a plan of attack that I'm really excited about. We'll see how it all turns out (more on that later perhaps?). When I got home I cooked some spinach tortellini in a brown butter sauce. Delightful. Katie came home and shared the meal with me. We sat in our living room with the wide glass doors open, fan spinning around on high, as we sweat in the 80 degree weather at 9 pm. Instead of watching TV or a movie, like we usually do, we talked about this and that, our days, our memories,