Category Archives: Memoir

Drawing Cured A Stomach Ache

Did you know that drawing can cure stomach aches? Me either! But apparently it does. At first I thought I might have had a case of the New Year Blahs. Except that would have been out of character for me. The other idea that came was too awful – a sudden onset of gluten intolerance. I would hate that. Continue reading

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A Writer’s Despair is an Artist’s Delight

The hand once thrown up in despair, is now ready to catch an idea, should it float through the air ~~~ Continue reading

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The Truth About Acting

What I learned as an actor should be shouted from the rooftops by every single one of us who has ever trod the boards – that along with the heartbreak that so often comes with a life in the theater, comes the knowledge that we all have in us the possibility of every human thought that has ever been considered. We don’t have to act on it, but we can act it. Play it. Because we know how to play. We know how to imagine “what if.” Continue reading

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Brooklyn Buildings 10th Street

I love these buildings. They’re on Tenth Street between 5th and 6th (Brooklyn) and I’ve walked by them so many times. But not till recently when I decided to start drawing the neighborhood did I stop and really LOOK at them. And then of course I thought what a wonderful picture they’d make. Continue reading

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Creative Juice

“Myth is the secret opening… A myth we re-quicken in our minds and our lives, brings creative juice…” Joseph Campbell Continue reading

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Letting It Come Through

I can now paint and draw small, sketchbook-size pictures of the world around me because now I see how focusing on the small particulars of the outer visible world, can also reflect a deeper insight to the world within. Continue reading

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Womb of a Woom for Writing

Allow me to introduce another sort of www—no dot about it—this room is a womb for writing. It’s like a womb, obviously because of the creative factor. The incubation and gestation process. A work of love that grows page by page, not in darkness (though the lights are low, and at times a candle is lit), but privately, hidden from view and unseen by others, except maybe for the occasional excerpt, the sneak preview which might be likened to a sonogram. Continue reading

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The Cabin in the Clearing

Whenever I looked out the window I saw two scenes, the one from the present, and this other one, so obviously from the past. From Brooklyn as it once was. Continue reading

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The Thing Is To Draw…

Who the figure was doesn’t matter. She was, and is, Ma, Mary, Mater. Mamm and Ama, Muder and Moeder, Mati and Moer, Madre and Mai and Mama. And in Vietnamese, she is called Me. But what’s in a name… The thing is to draw. To paint. To feel. And to paint and draw what you feel. In the moment. Expressing what you cannot say in words… Continue reading

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Exquisite Longing

An attachment I’m not yet willing to let go of. Because it inspires me. Continue reading

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