heartless

the open heart © Laura Kicey. All Rights Reserved.

Even on those few and far between February 14th's when I was actually seeing someone, I cannot seem to recall one that felt even mildly special. Not in my wildest dreams though, did I imagine that what started one year ago today with the sinking of a scalpel into my tenderest flesh would still be haunting me today. My body breaks, my heart follows, my heart starts to heal, surely... body you can bring up the rear, right? The end of February is filled to near capacity with work, assignments, engagements, travels and possibly some hope.


followers © Laura Kicey. All Rights Reserved.

This week is burgeoning... not with the hope so much as the work, billing, sales, assignments, and planning thereof. In the space of a few hours, I sealed the deal with Pantone for a year's use of my wall recognize, was featured on Etsy front page, had a sale on Etsy, and invoiced for Monday's shoot with the Onion Flats architects/developers for AIA as well as a newly commissioned wall for Lifestyle which I will be working on tomorrow. It is clearly time to buy the wide angle I have been wanting/needing.


plume © Laura Kicey. All Rights Reserved.

Yes... so lots of opportunities and exposure and all the good stuff. But my heart feels barren. Will better marketing and creativity fix that? More sales? How about working harder? Friday-ArtFag-Pierogie-Lost-on-DVD-Nights with Shanners? Well her sofa is softer than mine so I can at least forget about how much my ass hurts for a few hours. Maybe it is just this week, flecked with love and pains that leaves me feeling under a tremendous weight. Perhaps this just feels more like New Year's Day than the day itself and after all the months of not knowing what was wrong with me, setting goals in my mind, over and over... by my birthday I'll be better... by Thanksgiving I'll be better... certainly by New Year's, I'll be better... certainly after a year.... nothing will have changed at all, except the things I seem to have lost in the meantime. Last April I was at a peak of frenzy professionally and finally gathered my strength to change things. How could I have known... it could never be enough.


I know why © Laura Kicey. All Rights Reserved.

This will pass, as it all eventually does. If you came here for tales of romance, I suspect someone ought to tell you, you are at the wrong blog.

acknowledging the dark

tender as this © Laura Kicey. All Rights Reserved.

The photographer needs light to carry on; without, we shoot a void. As a human being, I know there are things that exist only in the darkness, we can ignore because we cannot or do not want to see, or we can seek out so that we might know. I reached in and what I brought back with me, I can't erase it and the immense pain it comes with.


caning © Laura Kicey. All Rights Reserved.

I'm sitting on some years' worth of memories, most of which came from brighter times. Whenever I open my eyes I am reminded of this. In two days time I have lost so much. It is too soon to know what I have gained. Or what I can retrieve.


dappled © Laura Kicey. All Rights Reserved.

The words are going to be slow to return here to this blog. But I can't stop the photographer in me from looking for the light. So for now, just images.


butter © Laura Kicey. All Rights Reserved.


quack © Laura Kicey. All Rights Reserved.

worn in

This is a new year? I beg to differ, I think someone has been out joy-riding in this one and there are scuffs and scratches all over it. I demand a refund.

Sitting in the Crapme pharmacy waiting to have my new antibiotic scrip filled, I stared at the stack of Valentine's candy that had started to accumulate. Reminding me that in barely over a month it has been a year since this whole hole fiasco cracked, lovingly open.


not a toy © Laura Kicey. All Rights Reserved.


I am starting to emerge now from the deep gullet of the holidays to take stock. The more dreaded holy day was the Christmas portion, half for the bacon preface and half for my maternal confrontation epilogue. To help take the edge off (read: avoid the food missiles being launched at us) Mr. The D absconded with me for a visit to the Zerbe Township Rod & Gun Club.


gun club © Laura Kicey. All Rights Reserved.

Strangely I felt slightly more healthy in a room filled with taxidermied mounts, plastered with NRA stickers than I did over Christmas Eve dinner. Beans. With bacon. Potatoes. With bacon. Chicken. Fried in bacon grease. Bacon. With bacon. For dessert, we ensconced ourselves in Heroes dvds and entered a foodless trance that lasted successfully until we packed our bags to head to Lancaster.


lilting delilah © Laura Kicey. All Rights Reserved.

Strangely it was actually a relief to get to my parent's house. No pressure to bestow glorious gifts on anyone. No pressure to eat until we collapsed under out own weight. And buckets of fresh, steamed broccoli. Hallelujah. And a steady stream of kitties to exercise with. And shockingly, no fights or dramatics.


driftwood © Laura Kicey. All Rights Reserved.

Granted, the presence of my mother's former coworker and his family who do not speak much at all English created a certain level of weird awkwardness. But that discomfort was not pointed directly at me. And this made all the difference.


axis © Laura Kicey. All Rights Reserved.

The week that followed was wildly lacking in work and productivity, aside from the erection of my big fat etsy shop where I am selling prints! Where I have already sold a print! (thanks Kristen!) Where I would like to sell oodles more prints! Go! Go now!! Am thinking maybe a calendar?! Who knows!

The remaining days of 2007 we spent in the company of people who have taken their devotion to feline perfection to a near-religious level. Mr. D has embarked on a months-long reportage of cat fancier shows, as he himself is rather devoted to cats, he is seeking to photograph people who can eclipse his own, uh, fancy. And naturally their furry friends. And as long as I do not develop an physical (or mental) allergy to said friends, furry or otherwise, I am coming along.


knucklehead © Laura Kicey. All Rights Reserved.

At the risk of sounding like a crazy cat lady, I really do love cats. The vicodin is going to start talking right now. I have an enormous soft spot for fluffy cats. Especially Maine Coons. They are gigantic as far as domesticated cats go. Even though (from my reading) the closest thing to having a wild cat domesticated is probably a Bengal (evidently they were initially bred out with wild leopards), you see a Maine Coon stretched out full length and you really have to wonder if they weren't bred out with tigers rather than their namesake.


solar power © Laura Kicey. All Rights Reserved.

Our New Year plans brought us to Philly for a new year's eve par-tay at a terrifically swank penthouse apartment. The deck on top of the world looked down on the Kimmel Center and the finest chunk of the Philly skyline. Plus an amazing spread courtesy the foodie genius hostess and live entertainment, courtesy the guests playing Rock Band vigorously. Though there is little more entertaining than watching someone who has some pretty rampant OCD get hammered and tumble down stairs trying to pick up crumbs. No photos of that, sorry.

I do, however, have some photos from just before the holiday onslaught. Shanners and I played hooky one afternoon to frolic in Manayunk and the NoLibs in the rain with holiday shoppers. And in her bedroom thereafter.

Don't be dirty.


call of the mild © Laura Kicey. All Rights Reserved.

We hit up Mugshots Coffeehouse (the other location where Dust and I did not have work being shown), Art Star, and Chic Petique. At said Petique, crack-snack addicted sphynx cat, Mischa grappled with me until I fed her. Her purple SoftPaws no protection for my hands that still bear the marks. She also wore this giant bejeweled collar so I felt like I was fighting an old street woman for day old bagels. She did not want me to touch her. Clearly. She was the one doing all the touching.


mischa © Laura Kicey. All Rights Reserved.

The store was super-cute and the girl who worked their very nice and I must send photos over. I just wanted to tack these on for good measure, since I wouldn't want it to look like I've been sitting on my laurels for weeks. The weather is supposed to bounce from sub-zero to sixties in under three days, so hopefully I will have maybe one day off to play like its springtime and do some artful marketing to magazines while the design work is currently in sharp decline. And making me worry excessively.

carte blanche

Better known as the Definitive Guide To Going from Puking Your Guts Out to the Hospital to a Wedding Party to Sleeping Under a Pile of Old Coats in a Frigid Garage to a Seedy Motel and Back Home Again in the Space of One Long Weekend that Feels Like One Half Weekend.

Ahem.

Wherever do I even begin? Sitting on a toilet, whimpering, with my head hung in a trashcan. Around midnight Thursday night. This, believe it or not, was the beginning of the better leg of the weekend. The Weatherman, aka The Bane of My Existence, has been using colorful language all week, threatening the mother of all storms, repeatedly. The night prior to my last hospital visit was not free from the dark cloud. 6am came round all too quickly for those hungover on Gatorade and Miralax cocktails, and Mr. D and I button up our necks and go forth into a completely clear, albeit still dark, morning.


asp at the breast © Laura Kicey. All Rights Reserved.

I get suited up in my finest hospital frock only to hear that Ass Doc has an emergency surgery. But before I know it I am laying on a bed and oxygen is tickling my nostrils. Somehow I slipped in... and they slipped it in mostly unawares. Everyone who has had a colonoscopy has told me the same thing, you are totally asleep for it, it would be too painful to be awake for. Much to my chagrin, a good half of that statement was a lie. Apparently my blood pressure is so low normally, that they could only give me so much of the sedatives before I would just stop pumping altogether. Which was not enough for me to be totally asleep. What I do remember quite vivdly was moaning vigorously as that wild, riggly tube-o-cam took a sharp turn several times and bonked me from the inside. In half-conked state, I decided that this is what it must be like to have crazy river parasites in your system. But maybe more accurately what it would be like to swallow a small live lamprey. It was nothing if not mercifully quick, lasting no more than 20 minutes, and actually ending before I was even scheduled to be starting. And the best part: enteral health is mine. No Crohn's. No colitis. My hole that has no business being where it is, is in fact a fluke. The abdominal tenderness is still a mystery. Check back in three weeks. By which time we might be able to talk to Hole Future.


engaging © Laura Kicey. All Rights Reserved.

Saturday, Mr. D and myself crash-landed into Central PA, on the CJ and Vrai premises for some post-nuptial nibbles. They sound like they should be a sandwich together, those two! Which would be strangely apropos. Any kitchen containing four crockpots simultaneously in use is a veritable culinary warship by my measure. And it was. Yum.

Fast forward a few hours and we find ourselves at Small's in Harrisburg. Mostly alone, save the smoky haze. Waiting for the other two bands that were to perform to arrive. And people to watch them.... for three hours. Weatherman again put on his executioner's hood and made intimidating puffing noises punctuated with the word ICE! Two bands never showed. Many other people eventually showed along with a random cover band pulled from the streets of The Burg who ended up playing. Loads of people I knew showed up with some lovely new faces, including Ms. Beaver and her coworker, Melissa, out for their mini-indie-holidie-partie.

2am and last call rolls around. Plastic chairs from outside come in covered with icicles. Our friend Brian offers to let us stay with him, he lives just down the street. I had arranged for us to stay with my parents in Lancaster for the night however this seemed too far to go if death was hanging out waiting for us in a ditch somewhere. So I texted my mom to say, we are staying at our friend Brian's place tonight. Mistake number one. Didn't hear back. Then we left the bar.

Immediately we realize, it is merely raining and the roads are just wet, though the tree branches are coated in fantastic sheaths of ice. We drive Brian to his house and decide to make our way back to Lancaster anyway, because warm bed and shower trumps floor and couch any day. I was about to text my mom back to let her know we are coming anyway and Dustin says, I wouldn't bother texting her, she will just worry. I concur. And we start driving to Lancaster. Mistake two.


sugar on our lips © Laura Kicey. All Rights Reserved.

Dust drove with great care as we jointly held our breath crossing every bridge, and wading through the fog and rain. The iced over trees catching the pink-orange night lights looked spectacular and forbidding. If it weren't for the fear of driving off the road and not being able to get back on, I was so tempted to get out and shoot. Even without stopping, it took us about twice as long as usual to get to Lancaster. We arrived relieved and exhausted around 4am. I unlock the garage door and go to unlock the kitchen door and realize the deadbolt has been thrown. I do not have a key. So I call. Cell phones, home phone... no answer. Repeat. Walk to the front of the house and ring the door bell. Over and over. Nothing. Knock. Nothing. I return to the garage and say I think we are spending the night in the garage. So I pull out my travel blanket and pillow and set up a D Bed in the back seat of my mom's car. I pull together sections of my brother's ratty old couch, pull 4 old coats over me and lay down. For the best part of an hour I laid there, shivering, jumping at every noise that sounded like the door being unlocked. I had left one message on the answering machine to say we were in the garage, please unlock the door when you get up and let us in.

And I had to go to the bathroom. Dustin opens the car door and says, that's it, I want some hot cocoa, I can't sleep. I said let's find a hotel, I'm freezing. Option one had no vacancies. Then we stop at a Ho Jo Inn. The woman with three teeth from behind her locked glass door glares at me and growls that she isn't checking anyone in anymore. Because obviously I am trucking around at nearly 5am wanting to get a leg up. Luckily the Super 8 Motel across the street greeted us warmly for the remaining 6 hours of pre-checkout time for the night/morning. Immediately I conked out on the crunchy mattress with the heat cranked to full blast.


super 8 © Laura Kicey. All Rights Reserved.

10am rolls around and I can't sleep anymore, dreaming of people invading the hotel room while I was in varying states of undress and embarrassing situations. We start watching The Shot on VH1 which I had never actually seen before, only heard about how utterly little there was in it for winning. Wow I could shoot models in their undies for Victoria's Secret. I SO NEED TO WIN. My mom calls. Demands to know where I am, I thought you were in the garage? You texted me and said you were in Harrisburg. Why didn't you just drive home to Ambler? Why didn't you stay in Harrisburg like you said you were going to? Its not my responsibility to answer the phone or the door in the middle of the night. I was sleeping! And hangs up on me.


tangle © Laura Kicey. All Rights Reserved.

Best warm fuzzy conversation with my mother of all time. So not only did we have a horrific night in terms of driving condition fears, sleepiness, freezing, soaking, and finding a place to lay our heads that wouldn't pee in our mouths while we slept, somehow I get dressed down like a kid out after curfew. I paid for a bed and a place to go to the bathroom. Shame on me.

I am this weekend's hero. And I think I am just going to walk to the North Pole for Christmas. At least I almost have my health.

Why on earth am I up this late ranting on my blog?

drift

Finally my cecum is done screeching great whelps of joy, or perhaps sorrow, upon refilling with unholy foodstuffs. It is curious to me how my gut can feel normal most of the time and then when I get these gross tests to see if anything is wrong with me, the prep for said tests makes me feel sicker than the actual sickness (which I may or may not have), would. I do indeed have a little cold but as soon as I ate I started feeling much much better. Of course, Jell-O doesn't really heal anything. The cold isn't gone but should be by the time I am drowning in a hospital gown again next week.


enterprising © Laura Kicey. All Rights Reserved.

Today I am bundled ala Artic Explorer, with no less than three layers of clothing on most parts of my person. This last weekend gave us our first snowfall and today we are having something resembling a small snowstorm but it has petered out already. Before I had the chance to take out my new baby for a stroll in it. I dove headlong into purchasing another major bit of equipment in less than 6 months. 5D. Mine. Now.

It is larger than my face even without a battery grip. It will take some getting used to, though when I worked on Sarah Beaver's stylist portfolio this last summer and shot with one, it was deeeeeelightful. If nothing else, I feel like I have an enormous penis and will not be threatened by anyone's equipment. Less excuses on my part. And hopefully more work.


santa clara © Laura Kicey. All Rights Reserved.

As much as I love winter, I have a deep-seated fear of giving bad gifts and the misery associated with the holiday at large. I can handle the family mingling and stuffings, the traffic, the congested stores, even the music.... but awkward company holiday parties boost the Dread Level up to near yearly review heights. This might be an inflammation of the hermit, especially since the one coworker I once had in earshot has moved to a desk where I can neither see nor hear him. So, like when I first started working here, I am once again basically alone in the attic, kept company only by the occasional ring of the phone.


underpinnings © Laura Kicey. All Rights Reserved.

To reduce the need to actually go to a store and shop with intention of making progress towards gifting I did ALL of my shopping online and in two days. And my gift for Mr. D, (which we will actually 'share'), actually has me kind of ....ok, practically beside myself. It will require a day trip and some finagling, which I think will come post-holidays. The combination of this and our pending New Yearsish road trip, which will take us across the Canadian border if there is no snow, or back down south, echoing last year, leaving the snow to pelt our backs. While we cannot avoid the second wave of Fattacks completely, we can buffer ourselves by tempering them with live-on-the-slim escapades. West Virginia.... maybe, Kentucky? And perhaps spend a touch more time in Delaware, which is not technically The South, just south in relation to where I stand. But full of truly bizarre things with no sales tax. I've witnessed the vast array of flea marketry via friend's photographic escapades, but can they match the magic of a place like Renninger's that has an auction where the bids go down and down to $0.50 before people will consider biting.... more of a garage sale with a fast-talking announcer? Expect a full report.


mothership © Laura Kicey. All Rights Reserved.

Tomorrow, if the roads are no longer mirror-slick, I will be wrapping up my shooting for the recent editorial photo job.... taking me to the farthest polar ends of the Philly suburbs. Though it remains a little challenging, I am still really into the assignment. Tonight, I must rub the brain cells furiously together to think of interesting things to do in the dark with my tall dark stranger camera. I will try to avoid putting absurd objects, curtains etc, on my head. No promises.

the quick and the fast.

In stark contrast to the normal holiday-time consumption, today is juice fast day, preparation for tomorrow's party in my pants. My boss chose today as the day to take the office to lunch to celebrate a coworker's birthday. I am mustering the juice to go and sit at a table of food I cannot eat. Or the juice to say I really don't want to go. Mostly the latter. I went to the local Crapme once when fasting and just about lost my mind, as every time I lost focus on why I was there, buying soap or somesuch, I would get lost in weird food fantasies about food I don't even like much. Oh lawdy, kaiser rolls, how golden your fluffy flavors must be! Please just come rest on my tongue for a minute, I promise to bite!


mediium © Laura Kicey. All Rights Reserved.

Without going into detail, last week's foray into Central PA was dramatic to say the least. Everyone in the broad family circles managed to escape the grip of death, which considering the amount of ambulance rides and car failures, was no easy task. Likewise Mr. D and I managed to consume an absolute minimum of edible evil, though it required a late night trek on Thanksgiving night to a (cringe) 24-hour Walmart to procure fruits and things of a whole-grainy nature to fill massive dietary chasms left by pork fat, cheese, heavy cream and crisco.

I am distracted now by the stomach which has started making withered creaking noises. More juice! More writing!


respiro © Laura Kicey. All Rights Reserved.

To escape the hammer of fat from coming down squarely upon us, we spent as much time out of the house as possible. Which included frolicking in the crimson leaves in the yard and a visit to that favorite Poorest Town in Pennsylvania, Shamokin. The land of infinite bizarre architectural possibility. The yokels must have been caught up under the girth of Thanksgiving bellies, unable or willing to come out of their homes, because not one person harassed us for taking photos.


interpretive architecture © Laura Kicey. All Rights Reserved.

Aside: After making some 15 phones calls, most of them today, to people who were fairly to completely useless, I have finally been able to determine that my medical referral for my insurance company is 'in the system' at the hospital it is supposed to be at. Every time I go to this hospital it seems five people must lose or ignore the referral prior to it actually getting put in the system. Thankfully I have only pulled part of my hair out in an inconspicuous place. Love my insurance. Carry on

Next to that aside:I just got word that I am being commissioned to build a wall for an editorial piece in a local magazine. I am squealing like a wee little girl.


underpinnings © Laura Kicey. All Rights Reserved.

Next to the nearby aside's aside: I just got a call back from the doctor to say there will be no party in my pants until you are done with your cold, see you on December 14th. I think I may have to try writing this when there is a little smaller frenetic whirlwind going on around me. Commence eating! I will return to finish this thought with another entry soon!

fast and slowed

It seems I misread my instructions for my testing for Crohn's on Thursday. Rereading last night, it appears I have to go on a juice fast starting Wednesday morning. The instructions also mention that I will be having a super-revolting test that no one bothered to mention at the doctor's last week. Super-plus-pleased. I wish I had something amazing to distract my likely-to-be-delirious self that didn't include looking at pregnant women at work. Since meeting with the Ass Doc last week I've had daily pain in my guts, which might be psychological or real. Who knows. Tomorrow might tell me.


weeds © Laura Kicey. All Rights Reserved.

The weekend was a long winding trek through some of our old stomping grounds. Up to Trevorton to Mr. D's parents for a visit, back down to The Burg for some thrifting, practicing, sushi and a NTTT show at Small's.


the cramps © Laura Kicey. All Rights Reserved.

It was an excellent show. I was shooting the band for an online magazine called Unsung Hero. Wish I had a link. The Night Train was headlining that night and in top form. Miraculously there was a very low level of generalized show assholery. And little alcohol-related violence. One braless dancing girl fell over on a slippy beer puddle. No randomly thrown punches or overzealous gyrating. But no lack of dancing either.


duo © Laura Kicey. All Rights Reserved.

The band was obviously enjoying themselves and the audience, likewise, watching. It was probably one of their best performances I've ever seen.


cmybalic © Laura Kicey. All Rights Reserved.

Also of note, I have apparently not lost my general desirability in my time of aging and infirmity... not to say I am peaking in the quality of men I am piquing the interest of.


don't you wish your boyfriend was hot like him? © Laura Kicey. All Rights Reserved.

Ahem. Cough.

I was sitting in an armchair and this gentleman pulls up the sofa next to me. And an ottoman. And faces me. That is the side of my face that was not turning to acknowledge him. At all. And he starts going on to my ear's dismay, about the comfiness of his seat. Then my phone rings. Its Dustin, calling from the back of the bar. To confirm that he see Monsieur Referee making his move. Simultaneously and obliviously, Mr. Referee continues talking to me while I am on the phone with Dustin, talking about him. Loudly. He scarcely pauses for breath, speaking to my hand holding the phone. It was quite a brazen feat.

Later Mr. Referee nearly got into a brawl with the obsessive sound guy who was marching back and forth between different parts of the bar, pausing to listen and then going back to his sound board to adjust. Mr. Referee, who was agitated at not scoring with me, decided that his displeasure with Mr. Sound might need to come to fisticuffs. Somehow, the smooth Mr. Sound manages to assuage him after some tense wrist grappling and sits down. Intense conversation, with wide open mouths close to each other's such that they appear to be skirting actual making out by a hair's breadth, ensues.


armed robbery © Laura Kicey. All Rights Reserved.

Phenomenal. The one that got away. My other pseudo-suitors included a married guy sitting next to his wife, one guy who knew who I was from flickr, and a total Bro with a nasty stogey. What did all these guys have in common? They were all mostly hitting on my camera.

Dustin was kind enough to dedicate a "to the four guys who hit on my girlfriend tonight, you guys are awesome!" Made my week, really.

wrinkle in time

Before I got better, everything had to get a bit worse. Last time I showed my face around here, I thought I was on the upswing, however flu and an ear infection had to have their way with me, pushing up my exam under anaesthesia up another week, as I was still coursing with antibiotics. In desperate need of a bit of air, Shanners, Mr. D, Daniel and I revived me by trucking me out for an afternoon of tacos and public abandonment at Eastern State Penitentiary two weekends back.


guard © Laura Kicey. All Rights Reserved.

As Shanners is set to be photographed by myself and Mr. D at her wedding in 2008, we are priming her for being un-shy about having her portrait taken. So we took some stabs at her, and she left standing.


prisoner © Laura Kicey. All Rights Reserved.

This week was marked with the excitement of finally checking into the hospital to have myself examined by a doctor who knows what he is doing. Hospitals used to terrify me, despite the fact that both of my parents have in past worke and again now work in hospitals and health care. Some point in the past two decades I have managed to mellow out. Perhaps it was the outrageous French anaetheseologist. Or perhaps it was the fact that my brain went numb after they drew all the blood and made me pee in one too many cups. 16 hours after I had last consumed food or beverage, I went into a state of extreme calm , lulled by the one television playing reruns of Emeril and Rachael Ray, dazzling me with foods I silently was able to fantasize about but not eat.

Fortunately my modesty left with the first round of sedatives, seeing as when they rolled me into the operating room, there were no less than 10 people present. It was only the next day that I realized that the audience contained there in, was privy to my privates in all their unhappy glory. When I regained consciousness approximately an hour later, I started weeping uncontrollably for no reason I could determine. The nurse told me that happens quite a bit. The Hot Doctor strode out while I was still puffing and flustered, announcing the confirmation that I indeed have what we thought I had and that my fiancé had been called to collect me. In between the tears I started laughing that I really must have been busy to have gone and gotten myself a fiancé while I was knocked out, cos when I went under he was just my boyfriend. And then I cried some more. Underneath it all I was most worried because when my man and I parted ways, he was under the assumption I would only be away two hours, and then I would be back on the road home. Now five plus hours later, I was not yet standing and still connected to IV and monitors. This was most worrisome to me. I had also deprived Mr. D of his parking ticket, thinking I could get it validated.

I was deposited in my own private hospital room, ass flapping out the back of my gown, nibbling on graham crackers and in strode Mr. D to pour me ginger ale on ice. Never has soda tasted so good. I started crying again, apologizing for having him stuck there for almost six hours running now.

After drinking a bit, my strength and hunger returned in mostly full force. We started pressing buttons until we got a nurse to come in and take out my IV and then we made a break for the hospital cafeteria who could only serve us rice mysteries or cheesesteaks. No contest. With fries.


sargasso © Laura Kicey. All Rights Reserved.

Now up to speed, I continue building walls and plotting plots to unleash when I am feeling my whole self. I've had some other possibly bad news, but I am waiting for confirmation. I've also been asked to have one of my photos appear in a design book being published next year which is nice. My 30th birthday is on Wednesday and I am planning on being a Libra this year instead of a Virgo so that I will feel more celebratory and mended for the big day, rather than a frail old lump. Gotta start things off on the right foot. Or the left, whichever seems most natural.


craft © Laura Kicey. All Rights Reserved.

rise

Now that my temperature is sliding back from 100 down to something closer to normal, I am struggling to keep the apartment from creeping up to 100 to match the weather outside. The whole house has taken on a gothic air, curtains drawn, windows shuddered, with me at the core, wearing pink and snarfing watermelon to keep hydrated. I think watermelon has saved my life a number of times this summer as it is the only thing I can seem to "drink" without feeling gaggy after the first few ounces.


broadbeam © Laura Kicey

It was a rather foolish thing to do, going to Coney Island when you've got a cold and have to work the next day. But Mr. The Dust and I went, as promised. A little hackwheezycoughing was not stop us! Since apparently no one is going to Coney on a Thursday afternoon, it took us less time to get there than the Jersey shore. It was quite an odd collision of worlds. It felt unlike the New York I know (I've even been to Brooklyn before), nor Down t'Shore... it seemed more like a foreign country all its own. It was however every bit as grimy and kitschtastic as I had hoped.


dressed up © Laura Kicey

We had some unexpectedly killer tacos at Doña Somebodies down some alley off the boardwalk. The weather was the complete opposite of everything we had been seeing at home and on our drive. It was barely warm, with shots of chill and a bit of sun. Then the mysterious fog rolled in and I felt distinctly like someone had accosted me and I was in San Francisco. Especially on the way home and the Verrazano was half hiding in the fog, which the Golden Gate never did once while I was there to see it. Of course, photography anywhere near the bridge is STRICTLY forbidden and advertised with great frequency in the vicinity. The paranoia did feel rather New York, now that I think about it, when at times I felt like I had slipped into Mother Russia.


hint © Laura Kicey

The sideshow 'freak' acts were not quite freakish enough, though the wolfman and fire eater were fun. Too many metal objects shoved up nostrils for my taste, not enough real spunk. I don't believe the contortionist could actually contort any further than me, even though her gag reflexes are obviously better controlled when sword swallowing.


whisk © Laura Kicey

I like the place on the whole, but I can feel them letting go. Since its fate is sealed I guess they don't have much choice but to lay down and wait for the condos to go up over them.

parable © Laura Kicey

I'm continuing to 'construct' things and Coney was the first place where I shot specifically for the project. We'll see how that works out. The process is both frustrating and a great mental exercise, not to be attempted on zero sleep and a flaring temper. My will to pursue isn't flagging just yet. Onward!

under

Coincidental with my last post about feeling like an animal, I started the morning this morning with receipt of something like a death threat from an ALF zealot, who had decided that I was responsible for killing some deer whose heads appear taxidermied next to a gothic panel of the Madonna and child at an antiques market. That I also worship Satan for putting God with murder. Etc. Mentioning on her flickr profile that "i would not hesitate to wipe out a animal killer or abuser, in seconds flat and i would give you no mercy, just watch you die".


escapade © Laura Kicey

Meanwhile, back in the land where I am just slightly ill rather than completely dead for crimes I didn't commit, I went to the doctor today. My specialist. And it turns out that the health epiphany (which I am too lazy to link to) was pretty much on the money. However to clear up the mystery of where it stems from exactly, so as to make it operable, I need to first undergo an Exam Under Anaesthesia. As exam while conscious this afternoon made me shriek and contort in an unhelpful manner. I feel rather odd having been handed the health answer by my mother, an LPN, who never even examined me. What does this say about my doctor? I mean I think self-diagnosing is creepy, but if your doctor can't be bothered to figure out what is wrong with you what choices are there?


underwritten © Laura Kicey

After lurking about the hospital for almost 2 hours in varying states of undress, I rolled on home and the little cold I've been nursing since yesterday let loose a spike of fever and I got chills I couldn't shake for an hour. But I am feeling much better now. So much so that I have promised Mr. The Dust and myself that we are going to Land of Infinite Amusement tomorrow. I will go wall shopping amidst cotton candy feasts, and tea cup whirl abouts. If ALF doesn't bleed me dry first.

feral

There are so many ways to tap into your inner animal, and it looks like I have three sure-fire methods, since today I am reaping the rewards.

1. Go to a Pet Parade

Sounds quite possibly lame. Is actually silly. Was kinda enjoyable on a purely guilty pleasure level. But watching people who have worked really hard to dress up and train their dogs in elaborate ways is kind of entertaining in a way you can feel good about, one step removed. I don't dress up my cat. She would eat me whole.


whippling © Laura Kicey

1. Go see a Hardcore Show in a Bumblefuck Town

Guaranteed you will want to beat someone up afterwards. I didn't go to see hardcore bands play. I went to see Night Train to Terror, who were awesome, as always. We had to wade through some truly questionable music and smokescreens to get to that point of the night, but they made it worth it.


burl's cymbal © Laura Kicey

1. Go to a Cat Show

Advanced cat primping always leaves me in slack-jawed wonderment. I love it. I would do it, possibly. I would feel slightly ashamed, but for over two hours I couldn't stop going awwwwwwwwwww, sincerely. Convention centers are magical vortexes where extremes of society converge. And when you hang out on the edge of such extremes and enter, it is easy to get sucked entirely in.


four senses © Laura Kicey

I was especially drawn to the above beast for his particular 'specialness'. Jacob, a 3-year-old ragdoll was born without eyes. Since his brothers and sisters were show cats, he has been travelling around since the age of two weeks. Every new place he goes, hotels and other homes, he makes a little sound and smell map and kicks back and takes over the place as though it were home. He was playful and confident, despite the initial impression that he was taking a nap and didn't much want to wake up. Though he could only show in the "Household Pet" category (for animals that have been altered, which normally means declawed or neutered), he was winning oodles of awards doing so.

When you mix these three things together, the response is apparently, make something. I'm not sure if it is something good just yet. But I have been itching to make a coherent, ongoing, self-contained project for some time. I just had no idears. Then I had the idear but no idea how to make it work.

Today, I just dug in and started making up the rules as I went along. This is how my project construct came to be. I wanted to take existing photos or walls, doors and windows, or ones shot specifically for this purpose and redesign them into what I would call my aesthetic ideal of a wall. As I worked for a couple of hours and sifted through my stack of source material, I started adding in tree shadows, faded painted typography and extraneous textures... using 3-6 images, I built imaginary walls.

All elements have to agree on a basic scale and perspective (or lack thereof since these are all very 2D thus far).
They should be physically possible despite not existing.
The colors have to harmonize, but I can change them to achieve that.
The individual elements can blend with each otheor sit on top of each other.
Sources should not be used more than once, for now.

So here is an initial taste of what is on its way... though who can say how far it will go:



hideaway © Laura Kicey


invisibles © Laura Kicey


delicates © Laura Kicey


welcome © Laura Kicey

Its rather fulfilling also to see really old photos come alive in ways I never envisioned. I figure since I have been doing this sort of manipulation to images of myself since I picked up a camera, this sort of work certainly isn't going to harm the integrity of a wall or 50. It is the culmination of all the things I adore, design, color, photography (and my most oft revisited subject matter- typography, windows, walls, plant life) all tied up neatly. Taking all of these very sort of serendipitous things I have stumbled upon for years and building something precise out of the them. I'm... like... making art. Unheard of. I might consider trying to pitch this for my upcoming show if I can create enough... And I welcome you, blog readers to let me know how you feel about this stuff I've made, I'm part excited part insecure, venturing into what seems wild new territory. Let the commenting begin!