I need octopus’ eight arms.

Image to left: Eight of Cups from the Motherpeace tarot deck by Vicki Noble.

I am in the process of taking an intensive course to get certified to teach card making with Altenew, a major paper crafts supply store. It is part of my long term plan to teach and share paper crafts and paintings; and sell classes, art etc online. You can view my card making and mixed media demonstrations here on You Tube. And you can follow my arts on VanGoghChica Studio. 

I also recently decided I want to write a memoir. I bought Microsoft Word and started with the opening pages. I told myself that I would still keep this blog up; I may pull content from this blog with a little editing. I had planned to devote three mornings to writing for my memoir. And I still wanted to keep this blog up and current.

Then, about a month ago, I came face to face with a metaphysical challenge. It was brought to my attention that I had a lot of sabotaging and negative energy directed towards me. And I was not shielding myself from negativity. I realized that I had lapsed in the maintenance of my altars in my home, my meditation practices and my daily spiritual practices of prayer, devotion and more. No wonder I felt destabilized. I knew I needed to work on honoring my spiritual practices more. So the universe answered my needs. Enter one of her synchronicities in my life.

A dear friend of mine in Louisville, Ky had referred me to a spiritual support group led by a dear friend of hers, Z!. I know Z!, from my facebook feed and from their leadership in the organzation, LSURJ. I did not interact personally much with them; but the more I have know about them, the more I have wanted to get to know them more. Z! has launched their coaching and consulting business. And they are running an eight week spiritual support group.

So, wow. Two things I have wanted to find. A jumpstart to strengthening my spiritual practice and fostering a spiritual community in my life. But the universe was gonna have to hit me over the head for me to recognize this beautiful synchronistic opportunity. When my friend asked Z! to reach out to me about their group; I poo poo'ed it thinking 'oh no, I can't move. I can't walk I won't be able to do grounding exercises'. I was fear based around my physical abilities or lack thereof. So I declined.

A month later, I received an email offer by Z! for a free sample session of the group. It was for people who wanted to know more about it so that they could see if it was for them. It then hit me that the universe (through Z!) was telling me 'You want spiritual development, you want spiritual community. Here is someone offering to help you with both. Someone you have wanted to get to know more. Someone whose work you respect.  Take the hand that is being outstretched to you, damn it!'  I answered that call. I am committing to taking part in this group.

So, I have a a lot of jugs of water to carry. My physical rehabilitation is paramount in my life. But I am now able to spend energy on non medical aspects of my life. as well.  I feel more whole with action steps in other life enriching areas of my life: my card making certification, new art channel and art blog and spiritual support group, working on my memoir manuscript, as well keeping up with this blog. So you can see why I am trying to channel the octopus' eight arms.

I am also experiencing a creative burst in painting and I am working on my seventh painting this month.

To paraphrase Mrs Whistledown (from Bridgerton Netflix series), "Dear gentle readers", be patient with me if I make fewer posts here. Know that I am actively producing other works. Visit me at VanGoghChica Studio blog and my VanGoghChica You Tube channel. And I hope to see you in my comments!

I got a book in me

Sipping my nighttime diet coke, I bid my housemate goodnight and prepare for my witching hours. While I do not chalk up my increased productivity in these late night hours to supernatural phenomena, I do feel a sort of magic in the air as I sit down at my art table or in front of my computer. Alone, in a quiet, calm space, I delight in my creative playground. 

My creative playground refers to my hard-won art studio space as well as my desk nook under the stairs. When I say hard won, I mean the battle was with myself. Since I have been on my own, I have always lived in small spaces. Mostly one-bedroom apartments. Now, I live in a two-bedroom townhouse with a housemate. 

You see, I am a tail-end baby boomer who got her Bachelors in art history. Like most humanities majors from the 1980’s, I never officially worked in a position within my trained field. My left leaning sympathies landed me in entry level non-profit jobs. My silly, brainwashed younger self became embarrassed by my bougie field of study and I hid it away for decades while I pursued more important matters like helping rape survivors or homeless youth on the streets of San Francisco. 

All very worthwhile work and work I am proud to have been part of. For sure. And I cannot say I would do it so differently if I were to go back in time. The pull towards social justice work was just so strong that I had to incorporate activism into my new adult life post-college. I just wish I could have also cultivated my writing and fine arts skills by making a space for it in my busy youth.

But who I am joking? It took decades of finding and healing myself before I would be able to live a truly authentic life; fully owning all of my humanity, mistakes, gifts and confidence. And there would be no body of written words on blogs or manuscripts or painted canvases until I did. 

So, this is why, at 63 years old, I am thrilled to have my art studio space and office nook to practice my crafts. I battled within myself for so many years about claiming myself an artist and writer out loud. And if I could not even believe in myself enough to claim those titles, I surely could not upset my domicile by chucking a dining room in lieu of a six foot utility table with shelves of art supplies and a bulky easel. I punished myself by solely writing in private journals and blogs. Like the thousands of imagined art pieces I made in my head, my words were not seen by any audience.

Until now. I am finally at a point in my life which in which I feel the most self assured. I intimately know and love myself. Now, I have things to share with the world. So, I donated my dining room set and let my housemate know that I have two sacred zones that he is not to ever visit without invitation: my office nook and my art studio space. I may not have the luxury of separate rooms for my office and art studio, but I do have designated places to create and write.

And that brings me to these words. I have been writing this blog for the past two years. (Actually, I have had other blogs in which I wrote for years; but this is the one I choose to make public now.) Many people in my life have commented how they enjoy my writings and suggested I write a book. Pshaw, I said. Me, a 'real' writer?

It would not be until a good friend of mine who is a poet and filmmaker told me the same but in a matter-of-fact way. She is a writer and teacher, and she just told me how it is. “You write creative non-fiction. That is a real genre in creative writing. You really should put these stories out there for people to read. You have a book(s) in you.”

Thank you, my dear friend S. I was finally able to hear it. I know that I am a story teller. I love telling stories and have always been told I am good at it. And I am now in a place in which I have a vast treasury of stories from my life and observations hard gleaned from my school of life. I want to pass on wisdoms I have learned and share realities that may be foreign to others. And hopefully bring a smile to my readers faces every now and then. 

So, I guess I am writing a book. I will still keep this blog and use what I can for both. 

I must admit that I feel a sense of urgency to get this book out. At this time (June 2025), our nation is on the precipice of a decline into fascism. Tears have nowhere to go as I watch the Los Angeles riots over the barbaric and xenophobic immigration policies of this 47^th president. I cannot cry or spend too much time watching news. I am in a sort of shock. Under my outrage is numbness. And fear. 

As a queer, brown skinned, immigrant’s daughter, I have a target on my back. The anti-LGBTQ and racist far right would like people like me to disappear. They are systematically erasing and re-writing the history of people of color in this country. And they are literally rounding up anyone who looks like an “illegal” (i.e. any brown skinned individual). ICE, police and now highway patrol have been deputized so that they can apprehend suspected illegals without proof of illegal status. And Florida (where I live) has now passed legislation that suspected illegals can be detained indefinitely without even having their apprehension documented in any public database. The detained individuals will literally be lost and unheard from. Families will not even know where they are.

In this climate, I want to get my truths and stories out there. I do not want my life experiences erased and unheard. With the right censoring many fine works of literature, I am absolutely certain my memoir would end up on the pyre of book to be set flame. I am a Latina, queer, sex positive, feminist and antiracist activist who now lives in a female body over the age of forty and disabled. They want me invisible. They want me silenced.

So c’mon. Keep reading.  Let’s be subversive together.

My own little Bastet

Portrait of Bimini as ancient Egyptian Goddess Bastet, acrylic 8"X10" 2025

I visited my sister in Northern Florida and came back very inspired to paint and write. I have a lofty project in mind for my writing. It is stretching my confidence, but in a good way. I'll tell you more as I get underway. First step: I need to buy Microsoft Word so I can start a long manuscript with all the official bells and whistles. I'll keep you posted.

I came back to a creative frenzy. I was bummed about some experiences with psychics (no doubt I will tell you about it in another post), so I buried myself in painting. I finished two paintings quickly and am on my third. I'm not showing all of them because some of them may be gifts and I think that the potential recipients read my blog. So I am keeping them under wraps for now. They will probably be Christmas gifts. Yes, I start working on my gifts way early (because I like to make them).

One of my painting projects is a series of our animal companions. My family loves dogs but especially cats. In another post, I must tell you about my family's cat, Pilor, who was so mean to me when I was young and used to scratch my butt when I walked around in diapers or naked as a toddler! 

Perhaps because I was terrified of Pilor (who had three incarnations in my family), I always thought I was more a dog person. But I have to say, I now have a black Bombay cat named Bimini and we have a love affair going on. She is feisty and diva-like and we struggle for the upper hand; but that just makes me love and respect her all the more Jajaja.

Bimi has a strong affinity for the ancient Egyptians' goddess Bastet. Bastet originally had the body of a woman and the head of a lion, but later transitioned to the head of a domesticated cat. She is depicted often in frescoes and sculptures and tombs. She protected the pharaoh's home. 

Domesticated cats were seen as her embodiment and brought good luck in fertility, child birth and home-life in general. She was also a muse for music and dancing. And she helped the deceased in the afterlife.

This stock illustration shows a modern illustration of ancient Egyptian art that depicts Bastet as she would have appeared in ancient Egypt. She was often painted around orange and wore colorful decorations. 

Bimi chose a sphinx-like pose and while I love her pitch black coat, I was moved to paint her colorfully. Last year, I did a silly smooshed painting with Bimini. I wanted to have a painting of her or by her, but the result was ugly, even though it was done by her. So I did not hang it. This I will hang. She is happy with this.

First return to painting

 Poppies 2, acrylic 16"X20"

After my mom's passing, I turned my back on my art. I packed up all my supplies, along with canvases and stored them in my garage for 11 years. I do not understand why my grief took this form but there you have it. 

A year and half ago, I returned to writing and began making mixed media art. I am quite dedicated to working as a writer and artist now. You know, I actually had an earlier blog in earlier 2000's also called Van Gogh Chica that I deleted around 2009. Why? I was shamed by some harsh criticism and caved into my insecurity. Damn, how I wish I had those years of writings still! I also mourn the damage done to my canvases and art supplies from being in a non climate controlled garage in South Florida for 11 years.

Oh well. No use crying over spilled milk. I decided my neurological recovery of my dominant hand is far enough along that I can return to painting. My hand still shakes and is a little impaired but I am confident that I can make it work enough to create paintings. I am  now excited with my newfound career as an artist and writer

My first canvas upon return to painting is a colorful one that reminds me of the beauty of San Francisco. While living there for 13 years, I discovered a love of poppies. I remember being amazed that large natural gardens of poppies existed so casually along freeways and among crowded living. Their vibrancy and floppy delicate petals spoke to me.

My poppy painting is from a low ground vantage. I imagined laying in the field of flowers and turning and seeing them against a beautiful setting sun. The colors bring forth a hopefulness that I could use these days.

I have allowed myself the luxury of support and assistance in my art studio. I look to YouTube instructors for advice, help getting started and details I missed in art classes (like the practical differences between painting brushes or where can you skimp on money and still get pretty good supplies.) I am also seeking community around my arts. Zoom groups and classes are helpful. 

If I can leave you with one important lesson from this experience, it is: do not give up when you feel your muses have left you. Art (visual and writing) is a discipline. Stay with it. Set new goals. Seek support and just keep putting one foot in front of the other. 

Hard won improvements: hands edition

 

This is a happy post. As some of you may have already read in past posts, the last two years have been very difficult for me. I have an autoimmune illness (rheumatoid arthritis) that has attacked my body in so many different ways. I believe it has attacked my gastrointestinal system. It has attacked all my joints, and it has wreaked terrible havoc on my spine. At least that is what my neurosurgeons speculate happened to my spine.*

In August of 2023, the pain in my back (and other places)  became so great that I was not able to work anymore. It was difficult to just be out of bed and walk. At the same time, my hands started becoming painfully, numb and lost dexterity. I went to three doctors trying to figure out why I was losing my balance and why I could not even hold eating utensils or a pen. I was misdiagnosed as simply having carpal tunnel. And the rest of my difficulties were chalked up to the effects of rheumatoid arthritis. Never mind, the fact that my rheumatologist was telling me that these symptoms of loss of balance and inability to control my foot placement was not an effect of RA.

Long story short, upon my third doctor and a second opinion by a neurologist, a full spinal MRI was ordered. That neurologist reached out to me the moment she saw the results and told me to head to the ER immediately, I had such severe spinal compression that I was close to paralysis. By that time, I was already using a walker and I could not use my hands for anything. I was totally dependent on an aide for all daily activities. I had an emergency corpectomy and cervical fusions in my neck on September 24, 2024. I ended up in a neck brace for 3 1/2 months post-op.

The day after this intensive surgery, I felt relief from the neuropathy in my hands. While I still suffer with it in my left hand, it is a far cry from the debilitating and agonizing burning pain I had been feeling in my hands 24/7. The crushing sensation I felt up my arms would dissipate over the next couple months. When I realize how close I was to paralysis from the neck down, I thank God and all my angels.

I have been doing physical therapy for over a year and while I am an impatient person, I am seeing great results. They may be subtle to the outside viewer looking in at me; but for me, I feel them as big steps. The biggest improvement has been my right hand, regaining much control. I do believe this was a blessing from God. I remember talking with my chief neurosurgeons before surgery and telling him that if they had to choose between saving my hands or my legs, to please save my hands. Not being able to write, dress myself and most importantly not being able to make art had robbed so much joy from my life. And the pain! Wow. I would make do with mobility aids if I could have my hands back and as I write this, I am happy to report my dominant hand is now about 90% healed ;my left hand not so much. But I'll take it.

Five months after my cervical surgery (February 2025), I sat at my art table and tried to paint some basic designs. This was the result . I

could not even draw lines well; I could not paint clean curves. My brushstrokes were visibly shaky. I was disgusted with myself and so utterly sad that I stopped sitting at my art table for months. Lots of tears. 

Three months later and eight months post op from cervical decompression, I again tried this same exercise. I am delighted. I doodled the image at the top of this post. My lines are more confident, controlled and solid. While my right hand is still a little shaky with fine lines. I am thrilled to be this improved. And grateful.

I now sit at my art table at least 5 days a week and I am enjoying my creativity again. I need to remember this improvement when I lose patience, especially around walking.

My emergency thoracic spinal decompression on December 28, 2024 stopped an impending paralysis as well, just lower in my body. I have not regained the ability to walk unassisted yet. I worry I'll never walk by myself again. But I need to remember these two drawings and know that with patience and hard work, I will improve. Or at least I'll be better, if not totally, ambulatory.

While I am frustrated about not being able to walk unassisted, I have to remember that I got my wish. I remember urgently telling the Neurosurgeon to save my hands and that is what has happened. If I am able to walk unassisted in the future, it will just be the icing on the cake. But I do hope to have a happy post like this one around my walking  abilities in the future.

*Since this post is about my hand recovery, I will not go into the thoracic spinal decompression surgery that I had December 28, 2024.

Activists I Love series: Bill Allison

Bill Allison is the second inclusion to my series: Activists I Love. Bill has a long, illustrious career, championing the rights of the marginalized and disfranchised. Truly, he is a Southern patriot. I am honored to call him a friend. 

His life's work as a civil rights advocate is formidable. I can not give it justice in one, brief blog post. Rather, I want to paint his activism in broad strokes and tell you a bit about how and why I came to love him as a comrade as well as one of my favorite people!

I first met Bill in the mid 1980's when my university anti-Apartheid activism organically transitioned to anti-racism and gay/lesbian* activism within the Louisville community. As an established civil rights attorney, he graciously allowed groups to meet in his office after hours. 

It was there that I met him at meetings for electoral work for a local progressive mayoral candidate. Little did I know who I was sitting next to. When the University of Louisville became the first US Southern university to divest their holdings from South African Apartheid, he pulled me aside to congratulate me on the student's successful intensive 2 year campaign. 

He asked probing questions about my political ideas and asked what I planned to do next. Shucks, I knew I wanted to continue my advocacy for the rights of people of color, women, etc. I explained where my head was at and how that had brought me there; but I was just working campaign to campaign. I was like all university students who become politically aware. I was thirsty for an explanation (and dare, I say, analysis) of US racism, patriarchy and all the other "isms" I was seeing.

I will never forget when he looked me in the eye and commented how my mind had been exposed to the ugly realities that greed and ignorance can bring forth in the world. Whether it was Apartheid in South Africa, El Salvadoran death squads in Central America or the KKK in Louisville, Ky, he said "You have learned some hard truths. And with knowledge, comes responsibility." 

Whoa. That was deep; and that truth has stayed with me to this day. Thus, a deep respect and friendship developed. We would work politically together for years, until I moved to San Francisco. But I still look him up whenever I visit Louisville and boy, does time fly when we get together. 

Bill became politicized during the anti-war and civil rights struggles of the 1960s. While still just a law student, he met Carl and Anne Braden and began working with the Southern Conference Educational Fund (SCEF). SCEF was one of the few white organizations working across racial lines at that time. You can hear Bill explain the fervor of these times in this wonderful 2000 interview. It's a truly fascinating first hand account of the South coming to grips with the civil rights movement.

He worked on cases with the American Civil Liberties Union (ACLU) defending the rights of anti-war activists.  He was one of the attorneys with the famous case for The Black Six. After that, he became know as a "civil rights attorney" (a term that had not existed before those times) and began his long law career defending  the rights of marginalized people.

From electoral work for Jesse Jackson, Darryl Owens, Harold Washington and more, Bill learned how to run campaigns. He eventually ran and won a seat on Louisville's Board of Aldermen and continued to support progressive issues in Louisville as an elected official. 

The next several decades saw him continue his community advocacy with his legal mind and his open heart. He joined ranks with the Louisville chapter of Showing Up for Racial Justice (LSURJ) and you could count on him to canvas and go door to door to get the word out on issues such as ending cash bail or in support of local progressive judges. As a core leader in the organization, he has helped make LSURJ one of the most effective organizations in Louisville. Bill says:  "We have to reach working-class white people because they have so many reasons to stand with people of color."

In my 2023 trip to Louisville, I spent a day with Bill and his long time love, Pat. Pat Allison, is a wonderful painter. I was lucky to  visit her studio space and get a personal tour of her works. Bill and I also visited and the day ended with him taking us to his favorite eatery.

He told me how his love of jazz (Bill is a trombone musician) had led him to discovering a forgotten jazz musician by the name of Bill Coleman. Coleman hailed from Bill's own hometown, Paris, Ky.  And it was that fact that flabbergasted Bill, when he realized he had never heard of this accomplished jazz musician. 

Coleman was born in Paris, Ky around 1905 and lived through the racism and segregation that was small Southern towns at that time. Long story short (you can hear Bill tell the whole story in this 2023 radio interview), Coleman became a gifted jazz musician and played with the likes of Louis Armstrong and other jazz luminaries. Coleman toured, and recorded music but became disgusted with the poor treatment he received (a la "Green Book" movie); so he moved to Paris, France. Like so many other African American artists of that day, he lived the rest of his life in France, where he pursued his musical career without the hazards of Jim Crow and segregation. 

Bill knew he wanted to shine a light on Coleman's music and life story. Racism and segregation had kept this great music away from us all.  As Bill explains in the aforementioned radio interview, white people also suffer from racism and segregation. Their lives are not enriched with the contributions of those they neglect to notice. 

In an act of cultural activism, Bill met with the mayor of Paris, Kentucky, and told him about Coleman and asked "what can we do to bring home this forgotten son of Paris, Ky?".  The mayor put him in touch with the Hopewell Museum of Historic Paris and Bourbon County. They also wanted to honor Coleman. And July 14 - 16, 2023 ushered in the first annual Bill Coleman Jazz Festival. The weekend included lectures about the life and music of Bill Coleman as well as wonderful Southern jazz ensembles. Bill and Pat Allison would eventually go on to visit Paris, France to honor Coleman in his chosen country.

I could go on with fun (and funny) stories about Bill and me. The black and white photo of Bill and me was taken at the rainy March in Washington in 1987. This color picture of us was taken in 2023. We both have led interesting and impactful lives. I just count myself lucky to have shared some of my time on this planet with this man.

* In the mid 1980's the queer liberation movement used the abbreviations of GL for gay and lesbian. It would not be until later that the other initials joined the acronym to where we are today.

If you would like to inspire yourself or others with a print or card of Bill Allison, visit my Etsy Store!

News from the front, with Bimi, cat activist

 

Yesterday, my friend, DL, went to a May Day rally in Coral Springs. Unfortunately, the SURJ group he was meeting up with (to walk to the main rally together) was nowhere to be found. Very odd. SURJ organizers are known to be responsible. Not sure what happened there.

But the take away for me was sitting (pun intended) with my feelings of "less than" again. Due to my autoimmune illness, rheumatoid arthritis, I live with constant pain and am currently disabled, using a walker and wheelchair. (That may change in the future. If I have anything to do about it that will change!) Getting out is a bit challenging for me. It depends on my pain level that day and time. I also need to research whether places I want to go to are walker and wheelchair accessible. Gone are the days of committing to activities in advance and always being able to maneuver the locales and actions. And that makes me sad. It makes me feel left out. And in these political times, I really want to be part of community organizing.

While I am well aware that I need to take ownership of my life as it is and seek out ways I can be involved; I still felt left out. And then it hit me. I could send a proxy to events I am not up for. And who else could represent me but my trusted feline daughter, Bimini.  She is feisty and very vocal - as all guests who visit my home remark. She talks a lot and has a dramatic presentation. 

Bim accepted this job and will be reporting from the field on meetings, rallies, marches, etc. Yeah, this will be fun. Stay tuned.