My Hair And Other Topics: Change Through Appearance

photo 5

About my hair…I have a lot less of it now. If you’ve known me for a while, you know my hair means a lot to me. More as a tool than a vanity thing, though vanity, of course, plays a part. My hair is one of the main ways I process transitions in my life, those moments when I need to change something on the inside, and the easiest way to set things in motion is by making it show on the outside. When the change is visible, I’m more committed.

I’ve worked my way through everything from bicced bald to butt-length tresses. Dreadlocks and numerous shades of purple, pink, and red have also made appearances. After I shaved my head in 2008, I waited three-and-a-half years to feel like “myself” again because at that point in time me had uber-long, fairy-who-wandered-out-of-the-forest hair. I needed it. Those long locks helped me feel like things I needed to show were visible: that the world is too much sometimes, that though I am trying to get by in normal reality, daydreaming comes easier, that I’m definitely a bit bizarre and also probably more sensitive than average, that I believe in magic, and if you give me the chance, maybe I’ll enchant you.

hair

(Ahem…apologies to all the people I cropped out for this vanity project. Thanks to all the people who took these pics…Di, Reubs, Bettina, Tay, and thanks extra to my sis for being uncroppable). Anyway…

I lived a lot of years with all that hair or without it but feeling like it was a part of me. I don’t think it’s fair to be categorical about what it all meant, but in the process that led to cutting my hair, a few specific things about what it signified for me kept coming up. So we go from there. When I had long hair, I always felt that people were more inclined to take care of me. Maybe it has an element of little girl-ness to it. My long hair always made me feel a little like a princess from one of my childhood storybooks (they did pretty much all have seriously long locks). I got to be the main character and enchanting and the one you root for and all that, but, in the end, somebody else saves the day, and I just get to ride away on the white horse.

photo 4

Maybe this makes me sound more helpless or hapless than I probably am or hope to be, but in the background, I can’t help fighting the outer circumstances that make life hard. Yeah, I want to be a good person, and help others, and develop on the path, but there’s always this part of me fighting what is. Impermanence is such a bitch; it hurts, deep. I have always maintained the part of me that holds on to things I cannot keep. I recognize myself in what is beautiful, not necessarily because I am, though who knows, depends on the day–but because that is what seems good and right to me. I have been told and I have repeated that romantic nostalgia is my primary emotion. I have always been attached to feeling deeply, having big emotions, expressing them, and having them recognized.

So much of my identity as an artist up until recently was about this. So much anguish, but beautiful anguish. If you read enough of these blog archives, you will find certain recurring terms. Keening over moors, wailing like a banshee, feeling small and sorrowful, untamed.

photo 3

This is a choice I have always made about how to relate to the world: feeling like I don’t belong to it. Which, in a way, is a rebellion against the fact that its rules apply to me. This is the plot conceit in literature referred to as “man versus nature,” though in this case it’s more “girl versus the nature of reality.” It’s a good story. It’s compelling, with lots of juicy struggle.

But it’s also tiring. All of its resolutions depend on waiting for people and circumstances other than myself to change. Its rich, emotive drama is never-ending. And I…don’t want that anymore.

I think—I’m okay with not being so damn special. I’m okay with not having some kind of magical distance from the gritty, boring, real world, with not always being protected by my paintbrushes and poetry, my big emotions and ready tears, and my wave of a wall of long, long hair. I’m okay with everything I experience not being colored by some kind of profound, sweeping meaningfulness. I’m okay with just doing the hard work, dealing with mundane shit, and looking like a total ass because investing in anything and standing for it—people, projects, ideas—means giving everyone around you the opportunity to disagree with you and judge you. I’m okay with letting reality apply to me.

photo 2

Accepting that I am part of this reality seems like a necessary prerequisite for understanding it. And that’s the proposition, isn’t it? Accept the situation. Understand its roots. Realize that it is not permanent. Get free.

And in real terms, that means getting my shit in order and prioritizing. Is it more important to me to protect my vision of myself and the vision that others have of me or is it more important to let others see all of my weaknesses, biases, and failures, so that I can a) grow out of them, and b) get over the importance of myself and how I appear to others? Especially if maintaining this complex system of veils and appearances takes hours of my life that could otherwise be spent on…getting actual things done: anything—reading transcripts, having conversations, doing prostrations, ironing the Lama House couch covers, writing all this perplexing nonsense out for myself, so that I can make sense of it and also share it with you guys.

photo 1

And so. I cut my hair. And frankly, I’m thrilled. I still shed in the shower and I still sort of have to do my hair in the morning if I sleep on it too funny. But it’s sooo much easier. I feel it inside as much as outside. Yeah, I know. It’s just a step. I still probably spend the greater part of my time defending my sense of self and keeping up appearances, but at least I can (um…sometimes) admit that I’m doing it, and I have the inner conviction that comes from deciding I don’t want to keep digging myself into this same hole.

That conviction gives me a second of pause before I react when I feel threatened, or, when it’s too late for that, it gives me the perspective to realize when I’ve acted out of fear and self-preservation rather than looking at a situation as a whole. It also seems to slow down the falling-into-depression business because I’m committing to failure as part of the path instead of feeling like I have no power over it and am thus doomed. So that’s something.

Coincidence…or not? This week is Losar. The Lunar New Year. Six days of wrathful protector practice, two ritual fire offerings, the raising of new prayer flags on the hill, and the installation of a golden Kalachakra in front of the Institute, a symbol that represents the Buddha’s teaching across the three times, through the universe and through our own body. It is an auspicious time for change.

May our aspirations be granted—not by somebody else, but by ourselves, because we are committed to realizing them.

Giving Up MoMA

IMG_2453

Having a record of my thoughts is a strange phenomenon, and knowing I’ve let those thoughts out into the world to be seen by others makes it even more so. I clicked through some posts of the recent past to check out what I’ve been living, according to myself, and also to see what shape the blog and this narrative take over time. And I had the funny feeling of talking to two different people. One who’s tentative and questioning and willing to breathe deep and sigh out, blink at the flowers in the field and not understand things. And another who’s energetic and brimming with anticipation and trying to tie answers onto questions in the hopes of being able to put them in a drawer and slide it shut with a reassuring thunk.

IMG_2454

This art thing. It’s not an answered question.

I still want everything I’ve ever wanted from my art practice. Wealth, recognition, community, affirmation. I still cradle daydreams of Chelsea gallery openings and the Metropolitan Costume Gala. But looking up show submissions and reading contemporary art news isn’t really what I spend my time doing. Occasionally, once in a while, I browse the call-for-entries website and think about the opportunities I’m missing, and muse about the totally viable professional art career I could have if I just spent, I dunno… maybe ten hours a week would be enough. It’d be slow, but I could update my website, and start a real series, keep up with the industry, get in contact with other artists, improve my exhibition history. Okay, it would take more than ten hours a week. More like fifteen or twenty or nearly full time.

There’s this irony that kills me. I feel like I finally have the skills to succeed in the art world—the diligence, perseverance, the understanding that success is not about talent and it’s not about me on any level but actually about hard work and being in the right place at the right time. I’ve developed the resilience to not be crushed by critique or rejection (some of the time) and the perspective to bounce back in the moments when I am. I finally have the toolkit for this goal I’ve been cradling all of my life, and what do I with it? I just…let it go, I guess.

Maybe this is me grieving, again, publicly.

IMG_2455

The other day in a philosophy class, we were talking about how to carry out projects while dealing with impermanence. And just like that, I said this: “For me, creating a plan or carrying out a project in the face of impermanence is about having a long-term objective and being able to check in and see if my actions line up with my objective. For a long time I wanted to be a professional artist, and I had to ask myself what I needed to do for that. Show work, connect with people related to that, etc. Recently, that’s changed. Now what I want is to put art to work as a tool for reaching enlightenment. And I realize that the reason I’ve been so stressed for a while is because the pressure I’ve been putting on myself no longer lines up with the goal I have.”

And it was so simple. It slid out just like that in the past tense. And when I said it, I thought, “Yeah, that’s so it.”

IMG_2456

But there’s still some part of me that’s not ready to give up. That’s like, “Yeah, but I can have enlightenment and a show at the MoMA too, right?” And maybe I can, if we ignore the fact that enlightenment is really far away and what I’ll actually have, if I ever find myself in this position, is a step along the path and a show at the MoMA too. Thing is, even if I can have it, even if one day I might have it, clinging to the dream isn’t helping me.

Tomorrow we’re starting a two-week study retreat, picking up Mipham Rinpoche’s Gateway to Knowledge where we left off. I’m pretty sure we’re still somewhere in the middle of suffering, ahem, the first Noble Truth. And on the weekend we’ll be having this year’s round of Autumn Meetings. And the week after that my plan is to hunker down and pass driver’s ed, so I can get my French license in one more step of committing for real to this place and this path. Then there’ll be meditation retreat and budgets for next year and translation projects and so, so many good things that I’ve decided to do instead of spending thirty hours a week becoming an artist.

And all of this aching is just that: aching. Maybe I can’t change it yet, but I don’t want to hold on to it either. I want to give up the things I don’t need, so I can do the work that will change something. Me, others, my ignorance, our suffering at the hands of impermanence and our confusion about what that means.

IMG_2457

Maybe this is renunciation: cradling a tender spot until I finally give up wishing for things I am not willing to create. I’m going to die, you know, one of these days. And I can’t take the MoMA with me. There’s so much love in that dream—all I wish I could give through creation. Maybe I can give it, and the dream just needs a new direction.

The dharma is more durable and the lighting’s just as good.

(I’m not sure this pun is comprehensible. It’s partly a Buddhist joke and partly an in-my-head joke. In Buddhism, the wisdom of the Buddhas and the teachings are often compared to sunlight, which clears the obscurity of ignorance. And in my daydream, the lighting is that of the MoMA, which is perfect because, well…it’s the MoMA.)