Near the Old Man of Storr, Scotland I took this in 2004

Tuesday, June 5, 2012

Time Warp

 I wrote this last year, and never posted it, but I like it, so it's finally getting posted. ( written: Wed/thur april 13-14 2011)
So, I've been tweeting, or is it twitting? Either way, it sounds weird and I have been taking part..sort of, mainly in order to get my petitions out to wider audiences. Almost overnight, I had 11 followers, and then, like a negative ion reaction, 4 have just as quickly vanished, but fort how long...?

Meh. It was weird and truly, who has that much to say..about usually nothing, but has the time to connect a link to each tweet.

What a weird world.

I just finished watching Trembling Before G-D. I know, I'm about 11 years too late for the conversation, but, seeing as this is more times than not a conversation of one, I shall proceed.

I get it; needing to belong to a larger group, community, what-have-you. I even can try to sort of understand the sycophantic neediness of the religious. Ok, they dig having ritual, customs, traditions ,and lest we forget, holy writ that bind them. However, those same traditions and writ also end up binding them to the point of suffocation.


Negotiating your own sexual space is a challenge, period. Add any form of religious dogma to the mix, and things become pretty hate-based.

I'm queer. Years ago I came out to my family. It wasn’t easy for me. My mother was supportive. Though, when I brought my first girlfriend home, I felt very isolated and hurt. Actions and words don’t always match.
My grandmother who was( how strange and sad to write about her now in the past...) fairly liberal in many ways, was also a devout Catholic.. I did; however, bring my first girlfriend home to meet the-whole family.  Everyone at the table, presumably excluding my grandparents either knew what the deal was or quickly cottoned on, and were cool.
Some months later, on Valentine’s Day, I went over to my grandparent’s to bring my Nonna flowers, to celebrate the day. Without skipping a beat, my Nonna asked if I had called my girlfriend who had since gone back  to Italy. I froze momentarily, because I couldn’t believe what my very Catholic grandmother was asking. I quickly wondered why she hadn’t asked me if I had called any of my other friends. Then it dawned on me that perhaps my super- devout Nonna was hipper than I imagined, and so, I told her that, yes, I had called her.
Each time I reflect on that moment- my Nonna boldly, and yet , super casually asking, me if I had called my girlfriend, on Valentine’s, no less; the girlfriend who had been introduced to my Nonna as nothing more than a friend,always floors me completely!
It was at that moment when I realized that my Nonna sees me.
So, certainly I do get it that queer Hasidic people need and want to be seen and accepted by their families which seems to also include their rabbis, but what I don’t get is hiding who they are.
When my relationship with that girlfriend ended, about a year later, I was devastated, and my outlet was my art. I secretly thanked her for having hurt me so much, so that I could cathartically release on canvass, which also motivated me to organize my first art show. On the day of the show, my whole family and I were at my grandparent’s having lunch. The topic of my show came up. My Nonna heard, and was upset at having not been invited right away. I didn’t know what to do. If she hadn’t known I was queer then, she would for certain that night at the show.
Nothing was going to stop her, and proudly she showed up. I remember standing in front of my panting of a large nude, female in the style of Modigliani, which had been modeled after the now ex-girlfriend, and was called simply, Reclining Nude. A woman who was standing looking at it turned to me and asked the price. I hadn’t even considered putting price tags on anything. My Nonna, who was also standing near me, turned to me and the woman and gently chided me for not having any price tags on my work.
Once again, I was shown that not only did my grandmother see me, but she was also very proud of me, and my ability to be myself. It meant a lot.
These people who feel bound to the idea of being humbled and scared in the presence of their idea of whatever divine means, have lost the point. I think religion is idiotic to begin with, but to then choose to continue to ascribe to a set of rules that  not only has no place for you but actively hate you, why stay?