One year recovery anniversary through lens of my art journal

September 19th is the one year anniversary of my emergency hospitalization for cervical myelopathy that resulted in cervical surgery (corpectomy and fusions). Three months after that on December 27th, I again had an emergency hospitalization and that resulted in thoracic spinal sugery (T9-12)

You see, my entire spine has sustained a lot of damage over time; to the point that the spinal compression was severe enough for paralysis and fatality. I ended up having two complicated neurosugeries  (cervical and thoracic) over three months. 

I am coming up on my one year anniversary of my first emergency hospitalization/surgery. I want to share with you two different art journal entries I created this year about my recoveries. To hear a much more detailed story with visuals, check out my You Tube video here. 

This first page was made five months post op from my cervical surgery. As you can see, I felt stuck, angry and sad. This was most optimistic page I created at that time. I tried to envision hope with the yellow at top. But falling over and pain were paramount in my mind. The overall sense in this piece is being unable to break through brick walls, tears, pain and not being able to walk or balance. I felt defeated.

In the second art journal spread, I focussed on the physical realm and the emotional realms. 

Having been to hell and back in both those worlds, I have adopted the phoenix as a special animal symbol for myself. Legend has it that the phoenix re-births itself after being consumed by fire. 

Yes. She swooped up beside me and I felt the wisps of flames licking my skin as she flew by.

You still see tears but I am now releasing some emotional tears (blue), not just the red ones of pain and fury. I incorporated butterflies for transformation and drew on the wisdom of my ancestors through the High Priestess tarot card. 

I only used paper that I had drawn on, painted, stamped or altered in some way. I like working in layers. Can you spot the three hospital bands in each art journal piece? They are white, red and yellow. They were color copies of the actual bands I wore for a month. You can find the white band in the video.  This photo cropped it out.

There is so much to say about this first year of recovery. It is like an onion. But what I take away is resilience, acceptance and yet, still I hold onto hope. And maybe one more . . . gratitude. Yes, I'll leave it at that.

Disabilities SD 480p

How I live with my disabilities.

Palestine inspirational card

 I am currently in a card making certification course. As I am studying different techniques, I am making some cards for myself as well as  my homework.

I am thinking of pulling together small sets of my handmade cards that I will offer on my Etsy store. What I have in mind are cards that might not be easy to find such as the pro Palestine one here. Cards on the side of fairness, kindness, anti-bigotry and overall fun cards as well.

Handmade cards are labor intensive and thus costly. Most solo card makers invest a lot of money to produce these small, popular handicrafts. And there is definitely a craft to card making.

I hope that someday handwritten correspondence makes a comeback. Personally, I have always loved writing and receiving letters from loved ones; and it's something I hope to do all of my days. These days people communicate with the use of technology and often bypass tangible handcrafts. But I do think handmade cards will always remain a niche market because there's nothing like receiving a small handicraft with a loving message that you can display on your counter, over your desk, etc
 

Times of repression call for us to become spiritual warriors. Let your inner bruja out!

 

When times get tough, brujas (witches) start dusting off their wands, potions, banishing salts… And these are tough times.

In case you've been living under a rock, the orange one's xenophobic immigration policies are setting up an Everglades internment camp for immigrant-looking folks - with no due process! I say "immigrant-looking" because the authorities need no proof of your immigration status. They just need to suspect you could be an "illegal" and they can cart you off. This ever expanding camp is close to where I am living, next to the Everglades.

Now, in all seriousness, I am also a good Catholic girl that loves God, Jesus and Holy Spirit. I just believe there are many paths to the divine in our world and I am called by various practices. Essentially, I live with a reverence for the divine feminine that manifests itself in the natural word and within ourselves. I believe my ancestors can be a source of guidance and inspiration spiritually. I cry for Jesus' suffering, just as I cry for all women burned and murdered for being "witches" (or just thorns-in-the-side of the ruling patriarchy of her times).

These days, I cringe listening and reading news. So much suffering and attacks. So much disconnect from what is whole, beautiful, sacred. It has been so devastating to me, that I am shoring up my spiritual strength. Part of that is reinvigorating my spiritual practices and connections with my spiritual community. 

Adding insult to injury, last month, a woman who makes her living as a psychic  told me I had some bad mojo hexing me. She created a nightmare scenario and told me I needed (her) psychic protection asap. And get this - all for the modest sum of $6,000! I was very disappointed.  She exposed herself as a scammer, trying to take advantage of what she felt was an easy mark; someone desperate to walk. She told me without this psychic protection I would never walk again and my bad luck, including health-wise, would continue. It spooked me for sure. But I know a scammer when I meet one. Needless to say, this experience only reinforced my knowledge that I needed to reconnect to my center, my divine and practice my spirituality with more concerted efforts.

I do believe that everyone needs psychic protection at all times. Negative energies are all around us; but I also know that I'm not going to pay someone I just met $6000 to do it for me. This was a wake up call. I need to recommit to my spiritual practice and protect myself from harmful energies. 

Around this same time, a friend of mine passed on information about a mutual acquaintance, Z!, that is running a find-your-divinity virtual group. It was sort of an FYI thing and at first I declined. But after the yukky experience with the scammer, I rethought this group. I contacted the host, Z!, and asked questions. Now I am enjoying these weekly zoom gatherings. Z! leads somatic exercises to help us get centered in our bodies and learn how to listen deeply to ourselves for our own truths and divine purposes. The picture to the right is Z! I recommend them as a consultant.

This recent inner struggle over my spiritual authority has resolved into a creative surge. I have been working a lot on creative projects and I have some ideas for paintings I would like to create. But my time is stretched thin these days. I am sure I will get to them. You may see a spectacular tree and/or a rising phoenix in my gallery soon.

(Thanks to Canva for placing my 2024 Halloween bruja in an Everglades detention camp, doing a banishing). 

Baby compassion

I've had many friends over the years ask me how I became an activist. Usually, I tell them about my university days. A period of time when many young people become politicized. But for me, my politicization seems to have been with me as far back as I can remember. As a young child I knew nothing of politics, but I had a heart; and compassion allowed me to see injustices around me and I responded with sadness and a desire to help. 

Around the age of 4 years, my mother and I had a fun lunch ritual. She often gave me one hotdog (which I still love to this day) and I would sit at the top of our kitchen stairs that went down to our basement, my back to her, doing kitchen things. This kept her youngest close to her,  out of trouble.* 

I would peel back the outer layer of hotdog casing and eat the dog slowly, relishing every bite. Everyday, I sat at the top of the stairs and my sightline would look below the stair railing because I was so small. This is not the actual staircase but you get the idea. The railing was held up by hardware that held brackets in place under the railing. Our railing had many more brackets all the way down the stairs. Kind of like this: Now, my baby imagination did not see stair rail brackets. Rather, I saw a row of arms and hands shackled. Can you see the similaritiy? 

I remember so clearly showing my mother over and over and lamenting over all these arms chained in a row. I cried several times. My mother kept trying to tell me that it was just hardware, but my young mind saw people suffering. 

To this day, I am baffled at how I even knew about shackles or people being imprisoned at that young age; but apparently I did. I remember talking daily to the arms and people I thought were attached to them. I would comfort them and tell them I would free them soon. I would lift things to their hands, thinking I was giving them food or drink. 

Once, my mother took a screwdriver out of my hand because I was trying to figure out how to use it. I had asked my mom what was the mechanism that kept them there and she told me the brackets were "screwed" in. And she told me how screws worked. She thought it would make me see them as just hardware. But to me, she gave me an idea for an escape plan.

My many attempts to free them were thwarted and I was doomed to perpetually be sad knowing they were there. I prayed for them. Eventually, as I got into kindergarten and first grade, my mom allowed me to hang out by myself in the next room; and I had my hotdog in front of cartoons. I guess cartoons erased my memory as I do not remember sitting and talking to the "prisoners" much at those ages. I bet my mom was relieved! 

So, I guess I should say, that my activism started around the age of four; when I became conscious of  "injustice" and "suffering" and a desire to help people suffering. Just goes to show that most social movements are run by leaders motivated by love. Not money or fame. True leaders are just able to see clearly. And they react with compassion and a desire to help.

* I also have memories of this same time period where my mom allowed me to "play bruja" - witch - by filling a pot in the sink and I would stand on a chair and concoct potions and tell her fanciful tales full of good-witch magic. Jajaja, even back then, I liked to tell stories.

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.

 

May Challenge with Lindy's Gang paints

The May 2025 Challenge from Lindy's Gang is to incorporate a cityscape and abstraction in one work of art using at least two Lindy's Gang products. I chose the Ancient Incan city of Machu Picchu. Incan textiles were the inspiration for my abstract shapes. I used Lindy's magicals from two sets. Yellow Tang Yellow from Under the Sea set #2; and Gypsy Soul Slate, Smudge the Sage and Flickering Fairy Lights from the new Gypsy Vibes set.

Oh, yes, I had to include a dirty llama as a big one chased me around the Intihuatana

when I visited this site. I turned a corner and we surprised each other. She and I  had a tense standoff and kept eying each other as we walked around the stone known as The Hitching Post of the Sun. She finally tired of me and clomped away. Let me tell you, she was not the cute, fluffy sweet llama you often see in pictures. Her fur was dirty, smelly; and she was tall and feisty. Perhaps she was an alpaca...

If any of you are crafters or wanna be crafters/artists, I encourage you to play with some of the paints and pigments from Lindy's Gang. Use my code DEBORAHSFL at checkout for 10% discount.

I would love to see what you create. The magicals (powders) are my current fav. Although I I do love their spray shimmers.
 

Scary times

This is an ATC that I call Free Palestine. I do not know the woman pictured; she represents all Palestinian women enduring Isreal's (with US dollars) genocide.

These days, I am creating much art in my journals that deal with human struggles and dire times. Seeing the erosion of democracy happening every day in the US is so disheartening and scary.  

As a progressive activist in the 80s and 90's, I remember thinking that things then were so bad: the wars we were involved in abroad and Reaganomics at home surely was indicative of a political system in decline. There was so much organizing. And yes, Apartheid did crumble, LGBTQ gains were made and there was general support for anti-racist struggles in the US. I felt the future would be better.

Then a momentous backlash occurred; why did we not prepare adequately for this? Patriarchal white supremacy, the foundation of this country's wealth, would not go out with a whimper. The left had long ignored working with the Democratic Party. So much so, that we now have a two party system that is really a one party system. And a left that is unorganized, tired, and ill prepared.

It is easy to think that President Trump is the main bogeyman. We want to think that if we just get rid of him, things will go back to pre-Trump days. No. While he is a figurehead, the far right backlash is fueled  by the 1%. Basically, this pushback centers around enabling the rich to keep more of their money, at any cost. Forget equality, forget climate change, forget justice. 

Judges, challenging unconstitutional presidential directives are rounded up and jailed. Brown US citizens, mostly Latinos, are being held illegally in detention camps or deported without due legal process.  The legal rights of activists are all being abolished with the hysterical cries against Antifa. The police are now more weaponized and have been given the green light to act as ICE officials as well as Antifa hunters. And the uber rich keep getting richer

So, you can see why I have nightmares and why my art reflects some grim realities. My housemate, DL, told me this morning of a dream he had last night. He dreamt that he was with a group of people that were trying to stop a train full of Nazis. Ultimately, they were unsuccessful, but he does remember that they all remained hopeful. Another dear friend, S, tells me how her autoimmune illness, Chronic Fatigue (CFS) is flared up worse than it's ever been before. Not surprisingly, she also tells me how brokenhearted she is these days. Her grief pours out of her for the people of Palestine, undergoing Israel's genocidal onslaught. And myself. I have a raised generalized anxiety these days about the plight of our country and my own security.

I love watching movies, especially mysteries and thrillers. But these days, I cannot watch a movie about war or a dystopian/apocalyptic future; because these situations don't seem so far-fetched for me. I can easily see the world being reduced to these kind of nightmare landscapes. The atrocious headlines I see every day are so disheartening. I'm finding it hard to remain hopeful.

BUT, remaining content, and yes, hopeful is still possible and more important than ever. Seeking good news about resistance, on all levels, helps.  There are good people who see community as sacred gifts and who see love at the center of all our actions. 

Perhaps I'll take a spiritual break and send my cat, Bimi, to do some community organizing in my name.  Yes, Mr. Bigglesworth* is no match for the lefty kitty,  Bimini!

 

* for those in the dark, Mr Bigglesworth is the evil mascot of Mr. Evil in Austin power movies

Another birthday rolls around. 63!

Walk Among the Stars, ATC, mixed media, 2025 dlRomero

I turned 63 recently and have been celebrating Deb Fest all month. Jelly pedicure, massage (my first since my spinal surgeries!), good food, new art supplies. While I try to act gracious about my aging, inside I cringe. But as they say in 12 step: Fake it 'til you make it.

I do dye my hair, wear makeup, wax and choose to be on HRT. I am a queer femme. (alpha  twist) It is going to be interesting to age while retaining my youthful energy and sensuality. Also, I have the added burden (yes, I say burden because that is how I feel about it now) of living with disability.

Female, brown, queer, 60+ and disabled in the US... I am going to have to really dig deep to transcend the mainstream expectation of what that looks and acts like.  There are not that many examples. 

My first step toward age acceptance was to take an honest assessment of what I need to live fully. My walker, HRT, lube, beauty salon (in my case I go to the Aveda School for inexpensive services), low heels and comfortable clothes, medication. physical therapy. These are but a few of the things I now need to live comfortably. Then, and only then, am I being creative to embody those new living tools with a style that reflects my inner goddess. She is sassy, sensual, colorful, loving and creative. 

You would think that this order would be logical, but no. I kept putting my first step as employing items and practices from my younger days. I keep rejecting my walker; but until I know I do not need it anymore, I have to proceed as if I will continue to use it. I also have difficulty accepting that I need to leave behind any type of higher heels.  I was not a stiletto girl, but I definitely liked a wedge or cute sandals with a little bit of heel. But since my spinal surgeries and RA, I my joints need the stability and comfort of low heels. 

I do think I have great legs, but I'm not one for short shorts or skirts anymore. 

One good thing is that I never once felt frumpy wearing glasses. I love frames like other women love to collect shoes. I notice frames on other women and I comment and engage in chitchat around it. When I was actively dating, I would go to a few singles functions or happy hours and men there told me I had a sexy librarian vibe because of my glasses. I thought OK, great. If that works for you, it works for me. Women did not say such silly things.

I took this photo of myself last week before we went to Bahama Breeze, where I toasted my birthday with Bahama Rita's, my favorite cocktail. Initially, I was delighted. I like the colors and my smile. But a quick second later, my attention zoomed onto my softer jowls and neck. I wasn't going to post this picture but then I thought about it and thought hey this is how I look at 63. My neck and skin is creepier and looser. And it is still a nice portrait. The colors, the large earrings, the lipstick and highlighted curls. I felt cute.

Maybe because I had aging on my mind, I made this ATC of an older woman jauntily walking with beautiful red skirt and her backpack. I placed her in a cosmic setting and call it "Walking Among the Stars". Wouldn't you know it, clipart images of older women  enjoying themselves in creative, lovely ways are scarce. When I did find images, they were always of white women and drawn in a caricature style that was more comical than lovely. There are some images of older black women that are elegant, often with a religious angle. Forget about finding any using assistive walking devices.

As a crafty mermaid, I am part of a community which shares ATC's and makes paper mixed media together. Literally all the art that I see in this community features cutsie images of young people with lovely sentiments, a la Lifetime movie style. Hey, I watch Lifetime movies occasionally, but only in small doses. I cannot take the sanitized, saccharine settings and storylines. 

I am trusting that my art will find its own niche market. I want to highlight older women living with integrity and flare. Also issues that I consider important to my life as well as our times. I hope to get as old as the woman depicted in my ATC. And I hope I am as whimsical, fun and expressive as my lady walking among the stars.

April Challenge with Lindy's Gang

April ushered in a new color challenge with Lindy's Gang. The challenge requires you to use at least two Lindy's Gang products as well as two of this month's challenge ingredients. April's challenge ingredients were hexagon shapes and an embossing folder. 

I made these tags using four Lindy's Gang magical powders from the Gypsy Vibes collection: Smudge the Sage, Gypsy Soul Slate, Flickering Fairy Lights and Rosewood Rouge. And a flat Fabio spray in Pineapple Paradise.

These tags are my humble start in working with Lindy's paints and paper crafts. I see many things "wrong" with these tags. The yellow in the beehive cut out was too strong for the rest of the tag, and my embossing was not as crisp and three-dimensional as I would've liked. I am also working my paints too much so they are bleeding into each other.

I'm wet behind the ears. I look at others in the collective and their works are so WOW! But we all start somewhere and I am learning a lot with each challenge.

If you are interested in mixed media, I encourage you to try Lindy's Gang products. Use my code: DEBORAHSFL at check-out for 10% discount.

Vote your choice! Help me initiate my new laptop

 Last Fall, I got a new Macbook Pro. I joined the modern era and switched from a desktop to a laptop. I am still in love with its shiny silver casing and accessories. But now, despite my best efforts, it's not so shiny and new. So I have decided to put a sticker on the top of my lap top. This is a big move for me as I've cherished the sleek apple design. 

Thanks to Temu, I have a large collection of stickers. I like to gift them or grace them on unexpected public surfaces. In my younger years, I had a car filled with bumper stickers. Not so anymore. I do worry about vandalism and harassment in this red state I live in; that is not a paranoid thing nowadays. Also, I lease my car and will have to return it in great condition without gummy residue. So I'll settle for my laptop. You may notice that I like things with humor. This sticker will be speaking to me daily, so I don't need an education on a topic. I like to smile when I open my laptop. 

Now, all you lurkers out there, this is your chance to shine. I hope I'm pleasantly surprised. I see lots of numbers in my statistics but very rarely do I hear from anyone in the comment section. I hope all of you will take part in this poll. Know that I do not collect any information about you if you vote. Also, kudos to me for being fancy shmancy and learning how to add a poll.

PS: even my cat got in on. this action. 

Be a 'degenerate'

One of the hallmarks of totalitarian regimes is a crackdown on freedom of expression. Hitler censored artistic expression that he deemed "degenerate" - any art that did not promote the ideals of Nazi Germany. Today, we have Trump cracking down on art he deems as promoting "improper ideology" in our country's most celebrated museums, such as the Smithsonian and in particular the National Museum of African-American History and Culture. (you better click on these links today as these websites will, no doubt, begin to censor what is deemed improper ideological art in their collections.) Art that highlights the history of iniquities in the US are now seen as anti-American by his standards. The history of genocide, enslavement and oppression of marginal groups in the US are now being whitewashed. 

Because of this censorship, I now see it my artistic and moral duty to produce art that displays truth in history and tells the stories of people like me: brown, queer, woman, disabled, etc. Inspired by this, I dug out this old journal entry (that I find lacking in technical skill). I do not like how I did my face with pastels, but enough of my perfectionism. My art journal, my story. Not every layout has to be great.

I made this journal entry a couple years ago when I began to identify as mixed race with Andean indigenous roots combined with Iberian European. This was after I did an ancestry.com analysis. It was a sadly powerful experience to see the colonization of my ancestors by the conquering Europeans. When I saw that half of my DNA was indigenous from the South American Andes region, I saw the truth. Many of my physical features and skin color comes from that side of my lineage. The rest comes from the conquerors who raped my female ancestors as an act of war, and in a concerted effort to breed out the "Indian". 

I hate the fact that 'Hispanics' are simply seen as white by US census statistics. It's simply not scientifically accurate. Reducing an entire mixed race people as white erases their history of colonization. Latinos are a mixed race. Mestizos.  Some of us have more indigenous roots, and some of us have more European. My experience growing up Latina in the US was certainly not as a white person. I was often seen as "mulata". This art journal entry was the start of my identifying as mixed-race in order to better reflect reality and educate about the European colonization that happened in Peru.

Looking back to my time in art school, I see that even back then, I tried to paint an aspect of my experience with some of the Latino racism in the US. I remember painting this portrait of my father and I in a painting class. I wanted to use glitter and or sequins in the Mexican sombreros to drive home the garish caricature of all Latinos in the US. Growing up, I was always misidentified as Mexican or Puerto Rican, even by those that knew me well. No matter how many times I told them I am Peruvian. They could not be bothered to remember. Forget learning anything about my wonderful Peruvian culture. Cinco de Mayo was seen as a holiday made just for me and my kind. Tequila, sombreros, serapes.

So I did a portrait of my father and I as ghosts wearing the accoutrements of a different culture than mine. One the US comically portrays my people in. My art teacher missed my point. He told me in no uncertain terms of any art that employed glitter or sequins was not real art.

He said I would never be taken serious as an artist if I used those materials, I tried to explain that I was using these cheap shiny embellishments precisely to highlight the cartoonish lens of Mexican culture imposed on a Peruvian family. But his chastisement hit home and I internalized shame. Shame for my poor taste as an artist.

Today I reclaim my art from the constraints of a dominant culture's lens. I will make the art that I think tells my story, that validates my vision. It is more important than ever, that US artists express their truths. Art can educate as well as delight. 

Now, I got my Bachelors of Arts in art history that was primarily art of the (male) western world. I love many artists, genres and periods of Western art history. I am not bashing that. But as an artist myself, I produce art that reflects my life. And it should not be censored as inappropriate ideologically. Latino history and life experiences are not inappropriate! 

So let the current administration try to erase us. We have the numbers to resist. Marginalized groups of people make up the majority of people in the US. And we have stories to tell, through art and  discourse. We determine our narrative. Many artists may continue to produce safe work that does not rock the boat in this political climate. They may grace the halls of approved galleries and museums, but they will always have to dance to the Emperor's fiddle.