Dear Diary 2.0


I feel so loved right now.

black dress
saturday, 3.16.19

“One angel to another… this place is hell…” (Padron Quip, 2019)

“I’d be good for nothing like Goodfernuthin Joe, too, I know… ain’t a woman just like that…” (Lena Horne, 1934)

I have been sick with Bronchitis. Shout out to my cool peeps at work who have been so great to and for me. I am pretty lucky.

Screwing the legs onto the painted panels making 1 table for someone pretty excited about it. Two layers of clear gloss polyurethane to protect the paint.

Got into a national conference to present a paper for 30 minutes and an hour workshop in Santa Fe this August that I am really looking forward to working on more, making them excellent to learn see hear.

Were it not for the struggle, I wonder if the end product would be as sweet.


Dear Diary 1.0 + Reading List

Dear Diary,

You know, I can probably quote the entire monologue for Woody Allen’s immortal close with Leonard Bernstein’s “Rhapsody In Blue” rising to full pitch in the background in his masterpiece, Manhattan.

Chapter One

He was as tough and as rough as the city he loved. New York was his town and it always would be.

My geekiness is deeply rooted in Woody Allen self-deprecation films that I grew up with in a deeply impressionable period of my artistic development ;). I like Gershwin. I love Bernstein. Diane Keaton. Standards. Black and White. Trains. WW2 “he said dju, dju, not did jou…” antisemitic rants that cast a laugh and want for more. I love Woody Allen (1968-1996).

I’m going to write to  Dear Diary and number each sequentially going forward (e.g., Tonight’s blog entry is simply: “Dear Diary 1.0”.

Tonight’s is simply thus:

Gender Fluidity, Male, Opposite, Other, honoring self-identified Pronouns (esp. They, Them, Their”, When your most recent ex begins dating again, Being sick alone in a house bereft of my lover week-days… that seep into longer week nights, and that my attempts to live in this house is deeply rooted in art + intention, thinking about Portland and Seattle tonight, writing, film, making

Reading List

reading list diary 1.0.jpg

Night Falls Fast | Dr. Kay Redfield Jamison

Night Falls Fast is tragically timely: suicide has become one of the most common killers of Americans between the ages of fifteen and forty-five.

An internationally acknowledged authority on depressive illnesses, Dr. Jamison has also known suicide firsthand: after years of struggling with manic-depression, she tried at age twenty-eight to kill herself. Weaving together a historical and scientific exploration of the subject with personal essays on individual suicides, she brings not only her remarkable compassion and literary skill but also all of her knowledge and research to bear on this devastating problem. This is a book that helps us to understand the suicidal mind, to recognize and come to the aid of those at risk, and to comprehend the profound effects on those left behind. It is critical reading for parents, educators, and anyone wanting to understand this tragic epidemic.”

[, 3.11.19]

Suicidology. Death. Dying. The journey. Stephen Jenkinson in “Die…” (2018) infers that to make peace with one’s death, you must be friends with the journey. To die a good death, at least

Tryptich, acrylic on heavy canvas 3 panels of 16x21x2 (2019)

I’m also reading a rather Catholic funeral miselette that I must have kept since either my mother’s death or my sister’s death from the Partners – Sorensen Mortuary & Crematory, California.


tryptich 2019 | the language of dying

I work 1 of the red eye shifts where incoming crisis calls steeped in a Suicide and Homicide demographic fills my professional and peer talk late at night into the daylight hours of morning. Afterwards I train home and look at the larger 8 x 5′ frame that needs to be canvassed for the actual tryptich 2019 of 3 images i’m obsessing on that are largely green, purples, blues, black, white, gray, ochre (yellows) and there isn’t much green in any of them.

The three started easily. Death, dying, hopelessness, for danger of the soul’s entering the dark of night, or maybe for the hopefulness of light and no matter how poorly or bright it glows, throws off the eye focus and blindingly, still. I don’t let myself put filters across my eyes (ray bans) because I need to see the base colors in truthful brilliance.

The Tryptich 2019 3 are:

1.) The Language of Pain 16 x 21 x 2″ Acrylic on heavy canvas (2019)

language of pain

2.) The Language of Love 16 x 21 x 2″ acrylic on heavy canvas (2019)

language of love

3.) The Language of Blue 16 x 21 x 2″ acrylic on heavy canvas (2019)

language of blue

What I like about them is that they are tower influenced and I am fascinated with scratching or texturizing out multiple windows that offer color behind each frame interestingly enough and inherently adds shape to the CU of the tower structure. Language of Pain is the 1st of the 3 in the tryptich, followed by Language of Love and lastly the Language of Blue (ala Miles Davis Blue In Green) although there is not much green in it.

My work as a Peer in Suicide (SI) and Homicide (HI) is deeply effected with being a sounding board for the bodies of voice who call in to the center in crisis driven by losses and the lack of hope can be heard resoundingly in dull, quiet. It is growth for me to listen to it. As a “fixer” I can’t fix this.

Still listening to a lot of mixes around standards, listening to WBGO New York, KCSM San Mateo, the new Clark Atlanta Jazz station on 91.9 FM Atlanta, bossa, samba, brazilian, NIN, Bach’s quieter cello studies, Puccini, Leonard Bernstein and the Spike Lee film soundtracks actually. I’m not averse to listening to or mixing new compilation of favorite melodic renditions.

Filmically, I’ve had on classic film from the 30s-after WW2 and they are lullabies to me.

Looking at a lot of architecture, furniture, fashion and foods. I have the latest ARTFORUM and W on my work desk in my studio.

It rains most days now and I sleep haphazardly 3, 4, 5 maybe a 30 minutes here and there. Sleep in long amounts rests the body and takes the back aching away and I’m surprised at my physical resilience, still.

Coffee. Tobacco.

I’m irritated by duplicity of any kind today and it drives who and what I spend my time around.

I will accept nothing less than full on-court offense and defense.


Lacking Empathy |Parading as my shoes fill with water

jen padron cropped-jen-kitchen1.jpg cropped-jen-kitchen1.jpg

Black ice. Possible, not probable.

I am on a Christmas laden 2 week sabbatical going into the New Year, not of my own will nor desire nor wanting but I’ll do this.

I will, in fact, be a fool to not take advantage of this 2 week Sabbatical to pursue altruistic “hobbies” or even to take a long excursion to the glaciers in Norway and ice climb with ice pick and ax to climb out of this hole I am in. See the skies glisten and in blues, greens, whites and watch the lazy and hazy star shower.

“I think your national reputation is Smoke and Mirrors,” I was told coldly and matter of factly.

I wonder how can you be such a idiot?

For me at least, while in Kansas City, I wept outside of the University’s building and conference room that was emptied, realizing it was a harbinger to inept social and community response.

Many words were spoken. There was strange disregard of social custom and cruelty pervades with an utter lack of remorse.

These two weeks will be spent carefully and in discernment.

Spirit led examination of the facts and to foretell my own prayer done intentionally to hold peace.

I see my father this Christmas and so it opens up the idea of Family and what happened to mine?


I choose kindness, altruism, mutual respect of the Other and it is the Right thing to do.

My 2019 Remedy:  Live madly.




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