lornamatic

next week, the outcome of this election will seem obvious, like it couldn’t have gone any other way, so i want to write this down and remember that it wasn’t.

election night 2000, well, after the weeks of fraud and confusion, after gore’s concession, i looked out the window at the empire state building and thought, nothing is going to be the same. i had no idea how right i was.

election night 2004, i spent the first half of the night in shock, and the second half drinking whiskey. i thought, things are going to be the same for a while longer.

election night 2008, i looked out the window at the dark los angeles sky and felt the crisp, clear wind, and thought about the quiet smiles of the people at the voting polls, and once more i thought, nothing will be the same EVER again!!!

it wasn’t obvious. it was never obvious. but it was inspiring – artists and musicians composed new works. movie stars made short films. the best and the brightest of my friends hit the pavement and knocked on doors and dialed phones and never for one second did any single one of them take this moment for granted.

it was never obvious.

(steno: narrowing, contracting) + (teno: tendon) + [(syn: with)+(ovi: egg) == (synovium: the soft tissue surrounding your joints and tendons)] + (itis: inflammation)

It started about three months ago. After painting for several hours, my hand would feel warm and sore. I took ibuprofen. I stopped using my blackberry. I started painting less, taking longer breaks. Stopped writing email, stopped blogging, mostly stopped using a computer at all. My primary activity was limited to begging the secretaries of hand surgeons if they please could PLEASE find some time, within the next two months.

And then almost a month ago, I stopped painting. I could paint with my left hand, which was really much better than you’d think, but that was my only usable hand, and was usually too fatigued. For me, stopping painting was a lot like what people go through quitting cigarettes. It wasn’t pretty.

The whole time, I don’t know: Is it just a boo-boo, or is it a degenerative joint disease? At this stage of my life I’ve cleared out my calendar to pursue art full-time, really just discovered how much I love painting, and now I can’t even pick up a paintbrush. For the first time, self doubt hit me hard. Was this whole art plan a big mistake? I just bought enough paint and canvas for the next 3 months. Will I ever use it? Am I going to be able to paint again? How about put my own hair in a ponytail?

Monday of this week I finally saw a hand surgeon. Diagnosis: Stenosing Tenosynovitis. Trigger Finger. The short version is there’s some kind of extra tissue that built up on my A1 pulley tendon, and it became inflamed and painful. It’s probably the very best outcome I could have hoped for. The doctor gave me a cortisone injection, which inflated my finger like a water balloon, some reassuring words, and sent me on my way.

Tuesday of this week, I went back to one of my drawing classes. It was still too early to try and draw, so I though I’d observe. I left angry and early when I couldn’t take the sympathetic looks. Like I am a little bird with a broken wing, and everyone but me knows that I will never fly again.

Wednesday of this week, I searched the web for fellow artists who’ve gone through this, but I didn’t find very much at all. In later years Renoir had severe arthritis and couldn’t grip a brush. They’d tie a paintbrush to his hand so he could continue painting. For the first time, it seems like maybe it’s possible. Painting is in the eyes and the mind much more so than in the fingers. Though, as it turns out, the fingers really help.

Today, I did my own ponytail. I cleaned and refilled the hummingbird feeders. I did some laundry. And then I allowed myself 20 minutes to scribble out a funny little drawing. It’s something of a self portrait. I told Mike, I think it’s some combination of a rag doll and an autopsy. He looked at it and said, I think it’s you, stitching yourself back together.

I like that interpretation a lot.

I’m back at the wonderful TED conference in Monterey. This year I decided to leave the digital camera behind, and sketchblog it.

Day One:

Day Two:

Day Three:

Day Four:

Each speaker talks for only 18 minutes, much less than my usual 3 hour pose.

I’ve been watching the speakers on TV in the “Simulcast Room,” so it’s a challenge to get a strong likeness down quickly. You’re totally dependent on a constantly changing camera angle. Patience is a virtue.

If you would like more details on the speakers, I recommend:
the official TEDblog, or the somewhat less offical list of TEDBloggers.

So my research on this whole Anisakis thing indicates that if problems are going to develop, they manifest sometime within several hours to 14 days of ingestion. But the longest time frame recorded took 16 days.

Monday was 14 days. I celebrated quietly, over a big steak.

Yesterday was 16 days. Being a card-carrying member of the .5% of the universe card, I said nothing.

Today, though, it’s 17 days with no symptoms, you know, other than that pesky daily 5AM anxiety wakeup call.

So my reasoning goes like this: if I’ve jinxed myself by mentioning the no symptoms thing, well, at the very least now I’ll have ensured my place in the annals of Anisakis history. Mmmm, annals.

Thanks everyone who particiapted in the Parasite Watch ‘06. And cook your halibut right!