Man with Snake on His Head 1991

Both my husband's and my parents are in their mid 80's. One parent is doing pretty well, and  the others are experiencing different degrees of physical difficulty in their lives.  Each time the phone rings, we expect a medical emergency of some kind--or worse.  What I wasn't expecting was a call from a good friend a few weeks ago to tell  me he had cancer.  He'd had surgery, and was getting ready to start chemo and radiation-the full Monty.  He is a few years older than I am, never smoked, not a drinker, and has lived a  healthy lifestyle.  His cancer is in his throat, so the radiation will make it hard for him to swallow over the six weeks of his treatment, making eating and drinking extremely difficult.

"Man with Snake on His Head" shows the snake being both part of the man, but then not, and it's not clear if the snake is going to be swallowed by the man, or if the man is resisting, ready to bite the snake's tounge and head if he comes any closer.  It's important that the man not let the snake back in. He has to keep the snake at bay, no matter what it takes, even if it means biting the snake's head off.

Quarrel 2006

Synonyms for Quarrel:

argument, disagreement, squabble, fight, dispute, wrangle, clash,altercation, feud, contretemps, disputation, falling-out,shouting match

On Christmas day I went for a quick bike ride.  It was a beautiful day, sunny but cool.  I rode up and down  hills, one very steep one that included a small dog who ran out and chased me, nipping at my tires, until I stopped my bike and shouted at him.  Once back on the main road, I noticed that I had knocked my rear view mirror askew, and just as I was adjusting it(as I rode), WHOOSH, a bicyclist zoomed by me.  Seconds later, another did the same, leaving only a foot or so between us as he passed.   "Call to Signal!" I shouted out, and then added, as loudly as I could to his rapidly retreating back, "Asshole!".

What was interesting was the amount of anger this small incident generated. Not signaling happens all the time, and usually I just let it go.  For a little while I even tried to catch up to the second bicyclist-why-I'm not sure. Did I think I would pull him off his bike and beat him?  Fortunately, I couldn't catch him.  I suspect my anger, even though justified, had more to do with other things. It was "the Holidays", which means trying to be some odd configuration of someone you're not really-jolly, mellow,  full of joy, etc. etc.  My husband and I had argued earlier in the day, and ended up both furiously cleaning the house instead of talking.  I had thought the ride would clear me out and calm me down, but it appears the real me still needed to purge the "other" Holly. I was somewhat grumpy and sullen for the rest of the day, but eventually returned to my normal-not jolly or mellow-self.

Afraid of Snakes 1986

Ophidiophobia or ophiophobia is a particular type of specific phobia, the abnormal fear of snakes. Care must also be taken to differentiate people who do not like snakes or fear them for their venom or the inherent danger involved. An ophidiophobic would not only fear them when in live contact but also dreads to think about them or even see them on TV or in pictures.  Wikipedia

Blackrock, New Mexico sits at the edge of the village of Zuni on the Zuni Indian Reservation.   It's where the Indian Health Service Hospital is located, and a small community of about twenty non-Zuni families reside there in basic homes provided by the tribe. It's about three miles outside the village, and sits atop a beautiful mesa, with a lovely reservoir to the East, and a steep canyon to the North.  It's isolated, but not, since the houses sit on small lots right next to each other, and it's urban, but not, since a one minute walk puts you into the surrounding high desert wilderness.

Every so often, a neighbor would have some kind of a run in with a snake.  We had two neighbors, both men, and both doctors at the hospital, who were terrified of snakes.  Interestingly, it seemed that all the wayward snakes found a way to their homes, and no one else's.   One morning, one of the doctors walked around his Isuzu, parked in the driveway, to get in, and found a large rattle snake curled up in the exposed roots of an elm tree that grew next to his driveway.  Fortunately, It was early morning and the snake was sluggish.  Later that same year, I got a call from this same man, his voice pinched and tight, asking if my husband could help get a snake out of his house. Since my husband wasn't home, I came over, and armed with a broom, chased/swept the small bull snake out the back door.  The other doctor, who lived across the street, found a nest of baby rattlers under his house.  He shot most of them with his rifle.  However, to combat his fear, he decided to put one in a mason jar to show us that he could deal with it.  He managed to get it into the mason jar, but the snake was able to force the lid off with his head and escaped back under the house.  The snake, of course, was never found. 

Bound Man 2005

We are all of us bound by something.  For me, it's anxiety.  Worrying about specific things (will I make it to the airport in time to get through security or will there be a huge line and I'll miss my flight?), or, even worse, the free floating stuff that just exists, but that you can't pinpoint.  Although I'm much better now than I used to be, having found the tricks that keep my anxiety less active--sleep, exercise, a diet that excludes caffeine and sugar, and meditation-- it's still always there, lurking, just around the corner. Going to Colorado for three weeks in January?  What about the snow?  What about the cold?  What if I spin off the road on Tennessee Pass(and now I can go online and look at the road conditions at various points along the way, which, when you are anxious, can take up huge amounts of your time, especially when your trip is a month out)?  Although the anxiety wolf will most likely always be at my door, I am learning to trust that there's something much bigger and much smarter out there than me, and that, at the end of the day, it will (probably)be okay.

Two Boy Inside Their Mother 1985

Two years before I became a mother, I listened as my husband and one of his closest friends discussed their complicated relationships with their mothers. They were working hard at trying to understand this most basic and important connection that each had with mothers that were not always able or accessible. The photo underlying this piece is of the two of them standing side-by-side, and in the final, painted image you can see their two arms below the mother's breasts, while the rest of the photo is painted over as the nude figure of the mother with the potted cactus in the background.

My mother will be 85 in December and has some memory loss.  Not enough to keep her from living alone with her dog, Abby, but enough that she has to write down just about everything in order to stay on top of things. Recently I found a note (in her handwriting) near the computer reminding her to push the button and hold it down to turn it on, and not to ask my brother again.  It broke my heart to find the note, and then something in me shifted.  Before reading it, though I could act kindly, I was often put out with my mother for not being the person she had been when I was younger--smart, organized, terrifically capable.  After reading the note, I felt a kind of compassion and empathy for her that I hadn't  felt before.  I think that reading that note allowed me to finish the long process of separating from my mother, which in turn has allowed me to see and love her for the person she really is.  I am kinder now when we talk, not as pushy and impatient about trying to "help" her out.  Our conversations often end in laughter, and always with an "I love you" from both ends of the phone.

Small Wolf with Forest 2000

Earlier this year, I received a request to use Small Wolf with Forest on the cover of a monograph  published by the Bowlby Centre in London, which is "an organisation committed to the development, promotion and practice of an attachment-based and relational approach to psychotherapy".  The monograph is called Terror Within and Without.  ttp://thebowlbycentre.org.uk/  .   It is described as the following:  This monograph of the 15th John Bowlby Memorial Conference brings together papers by leading contributors to the field of attachment and trauma that explore the means by which individuals struggle to cope with exposure to war zones, both large scale conflicts and societal breakdown, and the domestic war zones where adults and children experience violence and sexual abuse.These papers seek to further our understanding of the intergenerational transmission of experiences of trauma, as in the examples of the Holocaust and slavery. In times where talk of terror is everywhere, psychotherapists offer a clinical perspective on terror which may translate to the world at large.

As a child, our youngest daughter Teal had the uncanny ability of being able to exactly duplicate a wild animal.  She would squat on her hind legs, and with jerky motions and twitches of her hands and face,  become the prarie dog that we had seen at the zoo.  She could stay in that position for quite some time, scampering about the house, stopping to groom herself  or look about her in an alert, slightly fearful way.  I was intrigued by Bowlby's use of "Small Wolf with Forest":  taking something that to me was about our dual animal/human natures and  interpreting it in another larger and more complicated context.  Their interpretation is bigger, darker, and fiercer than anything I ever envisioned, and I'm pleased with that.

Coyote 2010

WEISS, SUSAN FELDMAN Susan Feldman Weiss, born in Perth Amboy, NJ in 1938, passed away on November 6, 2013 after a three-year fight against cancer. A resident of Corrales for 36 years, Susan was a dedicated defender of local wildlife. She was the founder of Coexist With Coyotes, an organization focused on helping residents and wild coyotes live in peace. She was a certified wildlife rescuer with Fur and Feathers for many years.

I had seen Susan Weiss for years, walking around Corrales.  She dressed in tennis shoes, long pants, a long skirt, a jacket, a hat, and if it was especially cold, oven mitts on her hands.  At some point, I figured out that this was the person who constantly wrote letters to the editor of our local newspaper, the Corrales Comment, about our coyote population.  Then, as I became more involved with village politics, I would s often see her at council meetings, there to speak up for the wild animals.  Close up, I saw that her make-up was applied with a heavy hand; spots of brillant orange on her cheeks and bright red lipstick.  I had no idea of her age, thinking she could be somewhere on either side of me.

She was passionate about coyotes, but really, she was passionate about all wild animals.  There was no room for gray when it came to protecting her charges.  Susan's (extremely) long letters and articles showed a deep understanding of what these animals needed to survive and, clearly, she felt compelled to educate us with her knowledge and passion.  Her stance also landed her in the middle of a hot Corrales topic:  whether to kill the coyotes because they are such pests and so dangerous regarding our pets, livestock, and (some say) children, or to allow them to continue their lives, doing the good things coyotes do in an ecosystem, sharing our community with us. There was no question on which side Susan stood.

A few years ago, on our way to do errands, my daughter and I spotted a thin, mangy looking coyote curled up, sleeping by the side of the road.  On our return trip, she was still there, so we pulled over to see if we could at least get her away from the side of the road.  Just as we pulled over, Susan and a bearded man pulled up behind us in a pickup truck.  They both put on huge leather gloves, and Susan took out a long, heavy stick with a noose at the end.  Clearly they were there to capture our same coyote.  The coyote sprang up from where it was laying and took off, all of us in pursuit.  Teal and I tried to herd her back towards Susan and the man, but she was way too fast and clever for us. We exchanged only a few words, and then, when it was clear that the coyote was on her own, we got back in our trucks and headed home.  I wish now that I would have taken that opportunity to tell Susan how much I admired and respected her.  I just assumed she would always be around,  walking the village in her long skirts, tennis shoes, and oven mitts looking out for our wild things.