Please Come to The Seven Ring Circus

Dear Reader,

It has been wonderful crafting this blog, and growing together with you, forming a type of community.
Which is why it is so exciting to tell you about this new enterprise on the artists and the life of working artists.

 I feel like the time has come to leave this blog as a marking stone on the path at the start of a new adventure and a new venue: http://the7ringcircus.blogspot.com/

Hope to see you there soon!

Cordially,
London Rothko

What It Means to Have a Body

There's a saying in Texas, "She'd rather climb a tree-n-tell a lie, than stand on the ground and sprout the simple truth."

So, when women aren't being the miraculous, smart, fun, sassy, brilliant beings that they are, in their spare time some of them pick on other women. Why? Damned if I know. Three women bloggers have taken on moving targets that I admire. Exemplifying the phenomenon of hiding behind a keyboard, waxing wise and...oh, wait, I do that.  

Anyway, these women bloggers (I'll call 'em b-sters) are not playing well with others.: They're couching attacks in terms that'd make an attorney blush, attributing opinion in theoretical "some might" language. And they handing off backhanded compliments, passive-aggressive praise for the "bravery" of wearing that.

First off, when the sisters are doing it for themselves -- that's suppose to be a positive thing. Yeah. Read the memo! Women could build one another up, not tear each other to shreds by b-slapping a keyboard.

Angelina in a Goddess-inspired Gown

Kate Upton Rocks the Catwalkf

Frazer Harrison/Getty Images

Something to Cheer About

Courtesy: NBA.com

Then there are hierarchies of being, where one thing in a pair is given more worth than another: young/old, tomboy/fairy, green/brown, slender/curvy (or the value laden skinny/fat).

Now, why is it that these b-sters are aiming their guns to the heart of femininity?  "Matronly" -- as in motherly as an aspersion? As for the voluptuous -- that is the way women roll. Yes, there are naturally slender woman, but woman tend toward the curvy in certain areas (bless 'em!). To recap, why is it that everything having to do with authentic, real, exuberant femininity is being looked down upon by these women bloggers? Have they internalized self-loathing, and then gone on to perpetuate the damage?

Another reason to be concerned with the public bullying of women by women is that if Angelina Jolie, Kate Upton, and a Cheerleader are being shamed what, we may well ask, are the implications for everyone else?
Right.

Now, the way I reckon it, we're here on this earth, in this incarnation, for a brief play period. The why and wherefore to is a mystery. On most days life's a mixture of the glorious and the gritty. So why not skew to the glory and avoid the screw to the psyche? Le's celebrate ourselves and others. Be kind. Be glorious. Be good.

And quit that friggin' shaming stuff! Play nicely together. Don't make me get fierce. Or do....It's all good. Go out and have a ball -- or the nice kids won't play with you on the playground anymore.

OMG! It's a catfight

It's like a car wreck. You look. You feel guilty for looking. You look again...

Same holds true with OMG!'s "Who Wore It Better." You know about this. Don't play innocent. We both know that we've clicked on it; then assayed the famous beauties on display who -- oh the humanity! -- wore the same dress. Even if it was at different events -- years apart -- there is a picture of them, both, on the red carpet, each striking a pose and staring with love into the camera.

And this being the society in which we find ourselves (and which we have helped to form), we are going to compare them and then publicly opine and vote as to who wore it better. And if these impeccable lovelies are found wanting, what about the merely mortal among us? By opining on every aspect of attire, footwear, cosmetics, accessories, hair style, age, body shape/tone/weight, as well as professional accomplishments and personal histories, are we not judging all women?

For the sake of argument, let's suppose these "challenges" as to "who wore it better" are an excellent idea; then ask: Does this go far enough? In homage to the historical precedents of shaming, naming, and public humiliation, why don't we put the two women in stocks, supply the hoi polloi with rotting vegetables and really go at it? No, that would be wrong, you say. Oh, all right...in deference to those of a delicate sensibility, we'll put the public stocks concept on abeyance for now -- but we won't know it is on or off the island until we've voted -- thumbs up/thumbs down, as in the ancient coliseum, in our on-line forum.

Wait....the ancient coliseum....This is our inspiration! Gladiators! Two go in... and only one comes out!

Or maybe we could sacrifice the loser to the business end of a volcano come fashion week in Paris or New York?

Far be it from London to say that there is anything intrinsically wrong in comparing women; I'm simply suggesting that if we are to go down this road, that we take history, precedent, and entertainment value into consideration. We, the public, deserve (though one would be hard-pressed to explain why we deserve this -- but we do!) at the very least a hair-pulling, biting, clawing, spitting, dress-ripping CAT FIGHT!

Yes! Release the hounds! Let the games begin!

Between the Covers with Eight Girls Taking Pictures

Yes, it is a purposely salacious blog title. Now, what of it?

So...moving right along, here's that promised review of Whitney Otto's novel Eight Girls Taking Pictures.
What can one say? That this tome is an homage to art and the dilemmas and opportunities that are an intrinsic part of creating? That Otto examines, in eight interlinking stories, what it's like to be a woman -- caught in time, in love, lust, excitement, possibility? That Otto captures in words like photographic detail, images and ideas and sensuous experience? Let us answer, "Yes!"

This is a novel of ideas. But don't let that scare you, my lovely. For example, among the ideas is one that discloses how to be the perfect subject of a photograph. You can become the very image of delight. No more embarrassing wedding shots, no more unflattering booty call F-book pics wallpapered for all  perpetuity. Even mug shots will come out better when one implements this advice. Instead of culling this gem from the other riches of the book, I leave you to discover it for yourself.

Oh, and there is a delightful twist to the wearing of a pearl necklace...

Life is an adventure and sumptuous feast and Otto has captured it brilliantly. Buy the book. Read it, gift it, live it.

Well, That Just Bites

Just when you thought it couldn't bite any worse -- a dentist in Iowa fired a woman who had worked in his practice for ten years -- and whose attractiveness was asserted to be a threat to his marriage. Actually, he fired her when his wife, who also works in the practice, found text messages between the two (both are married to other people).

The employee's husband implored the dentist to let his wife keep her job, but in conference with his wife and their pastor, the dentist extracted the conclusion that she was simply too hot to handle and a threat to the dentist's marriage -- and so the employee is being pulled her from her place of employment.

Ouch!

Considering the fact that almost everyone is sexually attractive to someone else, at some point in time or another, this lower court ruling is problematic.

You know that you're smart. Competent. Educated. Ethical. And very, very hot.

Be afraid my lovelies, be very afraid.

http://flair.wittysparks.com/article/09YW9ZF5qx3Ua/national-briefing-midwest-iowa-court-upholds-firing-woman-boss

Do You Want to Make Up or What?

It is a conundrum: This cosmetics company is passing out swag at a local university. Women are lining up to get the goodies, which included consultation, application, and a fine array of colors, tints, and products, from mascara to lip gloss, as part of a promotional campaign.

Why Yes, That is a Lipstick in My Pocket; Yes, I am Glad to See You...Why Do You Ask?

A guy is watching the long line of women snake around the kiosk. He goes and gets a poster board and marker from the student union (red lipstick would have been perfect, but one can't have everything -- at least all the time and upon demand -- and it's not for want of trying!). On it he scrawls: "You are perfect. You don't need make-up!"

Damn, but this is one question that is so tough we're gonna have to call up the rabbinical council for consultation.

The women in line talked about his sign. So, if it's their faces, then it's their right to choose. And yet, were they falling into a knee-jerk reaction about what a woman's face should look like? Then again, all this shit was FREE (smart cosmetics company -- they share in the London motto: Get 'em while they're young!).

Question: Do cosmetics make a woman look beautiful? Feel beautiful? Or does it play into conventional stereotypes? Do women feel coerced into wearing color? If it does mimic sexual desire, what does its application mean? Does a woman have a right/obligation to ignore the voice of reason/liberation against patriarchal pressures? Or if affirmation to be oneself (whatever that is) comes unbidden, is it one more pressure?

Finally -- do questions such as these bring roses to a woman's cheeks?
Nah, that's just the tinted foundation/sunscreen/moisturizer.

Something Nice for My Box

Let me say at the outset that I love me some Whitney Otto. I love her so much. But in a good way -- not in a tawdry, dirty, bad, getting into court and made to testify in a divorce sort of way (there is something to be said about learning from our life lessons. But I digress...). Anyway, I have read the entire Otto oeuvre. (How to Make an American Quilt, The Passion Dream Book, A Collection of Beauties at the Height of Their Popularity, and Now You See Her.) I have heard her read her stories, and have heard her speak; besides being one of the great chroniclers of the distaff, she is a fantastic raconteur (I adore any anecdote of hers that begins "and so I got into my little car" -- from whence mayhem quickly and totally ensues.)
 I have just discovered that she has a new novel out! I've just ordered it (I can always trust myself to get myself the perfect gift). And it is with great pleasure that I am anticipating Eight Girls Taking Pictures to pop into my (mail) box any day. I will soon regale you, Gentle Reader, with a review. In the meantime, for those who cannot get enough of La Otto, here are two golden links, one to Otto's web site, which is beyond beautiful http://whitneyotto.com/ and shows what it is possible to do with the medium with the clean, clever, elegant artwork and design, and one to her blog (yummm!) called -- are you ready? Yes? Good. Drum roll, please: My Life As A Liar, Confessions of a Fabulist, http://whitneyotto.tumblr.com/ (oh, and you're welcome, darling!).

Boadicea Danced for Me!

Boadicea Danced for Me. 

Truly. 

And she can -- and will -- move and sway for you, too, should you stop by Mary's Club while you're in the lovely city of Portland, Oregon.

The original Boadicea led her people (circa 62 C.E) in a revolt against the foreign rule of the Roman Empire, winning herself a place in the hearts of Brits/Celts to this day -- and in the minds of all desiring justice against tyranny.

The current manifestation and comely incarnation of Boadicea that I clapped eyes upon a week ago, dancing at the world-renowned Mary's Club  http://www.marysclub.com/index.php  (first topless in Portland, yo!) claimed the name and energy of Boadicea. I will personally attest that this Boadicea was fearless, fine, intelligent, and articulate.

Some know Mary's Club as the place that Courtney Love danced and pranced for attention (under the name "Michelle"). Love's photo graces a small space against the back wall. (Check out some Love, yo!) Some know Mary's as a historic home of dance for going-on over 45 years -- beginning as a piano bar with live burlesque entertainment between sets in a humble port town. When the dames proved more diverting than the ditties, the pianists (those divas!) picked up their sheet music and hit the highway.  

Some consider Mary's Club as a manifestation of First Amendment rights in action (and up close-n-personal). 

A place to make -- or spend -- student loan payments.

A second home.

A reason to get up in the morning. A refuge from the rain.

Feminist philosophy on the erotic arts is as nuanced and varied as the number of philosophers engaged on contemplating the topic at the moment. Me? I'm all for it!

Now, what I like about Mary's Club is...Mary's is an honest dive. Emphasis on honest. Emphasis on dive. Unpretentious, uncomplicated. No cover during the week, and a skimpy two or three bucks on the weekends. Drinks are what you'd pay at any watering hole. No less, and certainly no more. And the sound-system/music selection alone is worth the run. 

Mary's Club is a female friendly and women-empowered joint. Women can come in and feel welcomed. Tutelary spirit/cum proprietor Ms. Vicki is heir of impresario Roy Keller (who bought the joint from Ms. Mary before having the vision to turn it topless). Roy's philosophy, literally on the wall: "It's nice to be important, but it's more important to be nice!" 

Besides Ms. Vicki, a fixture as bartender/waitress, two granddaughters and a daughter-in-law work Mary's Club keeping it real, in the family, and awesomely distaff.

To enjoy the full experience, I tipped both dancers who graced the stage during my pilgrimage. Boadicea discussed what Mary's meant to her and slipping off her gold high heeled shoe and fishnet stocking, showed me the iconic image of the Mary's Grrrllll tattooed upon her slender, shapely, and high-arched foot. (Question: Do your employees mark their bodies in support of what you do? Conversely, does your job inspire you to emblazon your employer's logo upon your person? Right. Score and point.)

The other dancer, whose name I missed (sorry), was a gorgeous Amazon of the "Zena, Warrior Princess" variety (kid you not). When I told "Zena" I admired her athleticism and slipped a bit of appreciation into her palm, she did a handstand. Literally. Right up against the wall.

Goddess bless the First Amendment!

Mary's Club. Portland, Oregon. 

129 SW Broadway
Portland, OR 97209
(503) 227-3023
Hours
Monday - Saturday
11:00AM - 2:30AM
Sunday
11:30AM - 2:30AM 

Walk On

Welcome to the Walk of The Heroines

Refresh. Immerse. Enjoy. (But only if you want to...!)

Should you ever be fortunate enough to find yourself in the fair city of Portland, 
Oregon, with time on your hands after seeing the obligatory low-key 
bohemian/intellectual/Portlandia sights (Mary's Topless, Voodoo Donuts, Powell's Books, 23rd Street Cinema, the hand-crafted brew venues), there is a place of refuge to gather one's thoughts. On Portland State Campus they have installed the Walk of the Heroines (www.woh.pdx.edu/). 

Saunter, under a sky the color of pewter, as you read the inspiring inscriptions etched onto stones, the world's wisdom -- literally -- at your feet. 

Until that happy day when you trod upon this sacred cement and carved stone, admire the verdant hills, watch a hummingbird flutter onto a branch, a bee play among the flowers (so, this was what your mum meant when she sat you down and gave you that talk on the "birds and the bees"). 

Welcome. As has been said in certain circles which I've been known to stalk the periphery, "C'mon, take a walk with me -- I ain't askin' here."

Indeed.

Generally

"When caught between two evils, I generally like to take the one I never tried."

                                                                                          -- Mae West, 1935          

The Heroine

against the wall...

Yes

"The gleam of an heroic Act
Such strange illumination
The Possible slow fuse is lit
By the imagination."

       -- Emily Dickinson, circa 1870

Rest

Rest.
Come sit a Spell. Stop.
To consider.
the State
of your
Spirit

It

"Freedom is always and exclusively freedom for the one who thinks differently."

                                                            -- Rosa Luxemburg, 1918

Is

"If I could have found what I needed at thirteen I would not have lost so much of my life chasing vindication or death. Give some child, some thirteen-year-old, the hope of the remade life.

Tell the truth.

Write the story that you were always afraid to tell.

I swear to you there is magic in it."
                                                   
                                                                                                                      --Dorothy Allison, 1992

Carved

"The history of progress is written in the blood of men and women who have dared to espouse unpopular causes, for instance, the black man's right to his body, or the woman's right to her soul."

                                                                                                                        --Emma Goldman, 1908

In Stone

"Every woman I have ever loved has left her print upon me, where I loved some invaluable piece of piece of myself apart from me -- so different that I had to stretch and grow in order to recognize her.

-- Audre Lorde, 1982 

Walk the Talk

Built like a stone Walk of the Heroines.

Light My Fire

Who doesn't love The Game? The thrills, the chills, the preparation and planning...what? Oh, you mean the Olympic Games? Those are good, too.


The Olympics are fascinating. Beginning, once upon a time and in a place far away, the Grecian city of Olympia, 8th century before the common era --political states would get their Game on -- and all hostilities would cease while the athletes were at it. Oh, those were The Days! Skip to 1896 and the introduction of the modern Olympics. Games that, some would have it, show us the grandest and best that we are capable of -- the quest for perfection, precision, patience, endurance, and seeking expression of all that the body can experience. Yes. We are the stuff of stars. Our ancestors are carried forward in our deeds.


In the modern Games, in honor of the first Olympics, and in a nod to the power of story (Zeus got his fire heisted by Prometheus, who, as punishment, had to get his rocks off again and again -- hey, my blog, my telling), the Olympic Torch is lit in a ceremony in Athens months before the start of the Olympics -- by eleven women representing the vestal virgins (how hot is that!). Utilizing a parabolic mirror to ignite the light via the power of the sun, the torch is passed to the first of the torch bearers, who run it past the Temple of Hera (for ol' times' sake) before the flame is carried by a series of sprinters to the city providing hospitality for The Games. (My benediction: May that all of your lovers, paramours, and one/two/three nights stands always carry a torch for you -- as they should, damn it!)


From our study of mythology, we know that the deities were noble and good -- until they weren't. At times they were randy, riotous, opinionated, jealous, frisky -- and any other mood imaginable. This goes towards The Games themselves. They showcase the very best that we, humans, are capable of achieving.

That said: We is what we is. And the Games are our mirror. Women did not participate until the 1900 games. Even now, there are countries that have not sent a female athlete to compete. There have been acts of terrorism. Political boycotts. Allegations of doping (and not in a good way). Tragedies of war. Apartheid. Racism. Anti-semitism. Damn!

Even of late (say, this week), there have been idiots who have commented upon a goddesses' -- I meant athletes -- image in a bathing and asking : do you think she's fat? (Wonder if they asked her if she thought the writer was a fat-head?) There have been second-guessing of hairstyles, and a photo run by a mainstream media power that shall be unnamed -- cough (Yahoo.com) cough -- posted a photo of a cut-n-defined-to-six-pack perfection abdomen, with the tag that Olympians weren't like the rest of us. One could say that anyone who disagreed might be jealous...but it would be hard to know of whom the feeling was aimed -- because the shot cut off the subject's head (not in the post-modern, hip, be-aware-of-the-frame mode, but at the friggin neck!). We are not jealous. (Poor, headless darling!). We are mildly amused and slightly incensed on behalf of all humanity/deities and their myriad of body types and plethora of talents.


The Games are life/and life is the Games. We seek to give our best performance. We engineer cities, explore the heavens, perform rocket surgery and brain science...er, is it the other way around?....whatever! The point is, we are brilliant and fierce and gentle and good -- and at times bad as we wanna be, and a little more too! We are standard bearers and torch lighters, all.

On the Bus

While there is much that is exciting in the work of Gender Studies/Social Activism, there is also, at times, a sadness at injustices in the past, and the appraisal of hard work before us. Studying women’s spirituality and the feminine divine refreshed my soul, mind, and body. To see women, and by extension the earth, as beautiful and strong was something that I hadn’t realized that I was so thirsting for until it was laid before me. I found the archetypes of the feminine divine -- from the Oshun to Isis, from Brigid to Kuan Yin -- not only fascinating, but energizing and inspiring. There are now times when I see a woman running for a bus, guiding a child across the street, reading a book, feeding the pigeons -- and I see a goddess.

Through the study of Social Justice, I discovered that feminism is for everybody, because women’s voices, concerns, dreams, schemes, needs, and lives are so important. I learned to see, well, yes, the passion, but also the varied richness of sex, gender, identity, and community; to look with interest at black and white -- and every other shade; to really explore notions of power and privilege.

Now what? The work. This entails becoming an engaged individual. A good listener. A fine friend. A  world citizen.

It is the work of a lifetime. 

Imagine!

One of the catalysts for this collection of writings and images was viewing a film in which a woman wept tears comprised of a myriad of emotions. 

She said that it was through studying the images of goddesses that she had, for the first time in her life, seen a positive image of-and-for herself. 

That is heart-rendering. Women -- and the fine folks who love, admire, adore, and honor them (YES, I am looking at you!) 

...are often given images/feedback/suggestions/admonishments about how they fall short of some skewed/screwed ideal. Commercial media tantalizes and teases and creates odd and twisted yearnings, working through negation (get rid of that, bind that, hide this). 

Work -- at times -- goes unsung (for everyone). Education brings an acute awareness of…all the things yet to be learned. The things that women have specialized in -- say, oh, creating life, nurturing relationships, celebrating the moment, are esteemed on the abstract level.

 Yet there is often scant institutional/societal support systems in place (i.e. pregnancy leave, child/elder/health care, scheduling conflicts that can bind the working parent).

In short, how about the message -- which is obvious, but sometimes the obvious is astounding--

 That each woman -- and man -- and child  (and every lovely sentient being seeking to express gender in her/his own individual fashion), is perfect, as is. 

This includes dust on the windowsill, the dissertation-in-progress monopolizing the desk, the hot chocolate stain on the duvet. Furgetaboutit! You are vibrant, interesting, unique, fascinating, funny, energetic, quirky and truly marvelous just the way you are. 

That's the fun (and funny) thing they don't always tell you. In goddess imagery/stories/anecdotes, the divine entities have desires, dreams, idiosyncrasies, flaws, and strengths and virtues. Divine my the merit of existence.

Don't change a thing...unless you want to. Stand up. Shout. Sing. Dance. Be the glorious, gorgeous, delicious being that you are. Blow your own horn! 

Plant the garden, pick the flowers. Be. Beautiful.

Kudos!

IQ U

Balance is Beautiful!

So much for the Battle of the Sexes. To quote the late Rodney King, "Can't we all get along?" So...it was a slow day for saving the planet, and the brainiacs decided to work on something that would facilitate people pulling together. And what says "teamwork" like a -- drum roll please -- IQ Test?


There they were, the testees (you know what I mean) 1,000 darlings, ages 15 to 18 ("get 'em while they're young" ) 500 of each gender, seated and plied with the Test.


Before we get to the results (from abc News/ Medical Unit "Women Beat Men on IQ Tests For First Time" by Carrie Cann,  http://abcnews.go.com/blogs/health/2012/07/16/women-beat-men-on-iq-tests-for-first-time/) I would like to posit a theory of my own. Consider this a gift. Well, not like a gift-gift, since when you and I run into one another at a favorite watering hole, it would be a fine thing -- a truly classy gesture -- if you sent one over by the way of appreciation for dropping this nugget. Hint: I can't always be pulling my own Night Train and working this blog (dang it!). Be that as it may...


Let us ask ourselves...what's a small differential on an IQ test? Back to the results...well, the title pretty much spills it. Back to my theory: intelligence is comprised of many different gifts: There is body/athletic talent. Emotional wisdom and empathy (over-rated!). Quantitative. Verbal. Spacial. Musical. Magical. Intuitive. Artistic. There is a special one... might label it Wilde Intelligence (after Oscar). With this, the individual says witty things, is emotionally sensitive, dresses divinely, enjoys the moment, seizes the day, and then...trips over her/his own genitals/feet/evidence.


There is scientific acumen. Books smarts. Street wisdom. (Un-)common sense. Bed skills. Culinary inventiveness. Green thumbs (hell, the whole appendage, from tips to armpits is good for growing on some folks -- but I digress...). There are those who whisper to horses, listen to children, sway crowds, and make spirits soar.


We are all part of the puzzle. The concept that one type of something is better than another variety is a manifestation of the belief in duality and dichotomy: good/bad, pretty/ugly, salty/sweet, black/white, heaven/hell, virgin/whore, and the one that really seems to get us into a whole lotta muck -- again, and again, and a friggin' again -- me/others. The truth is that we are delicious mysteries. We all contain worlds within ourselves. We are divine. And divinely contradictory. For instance, when we run into one another next, I will (probably) send one over your table, just to shake things up. To manifest and make tangible the mystery.


 Keep 'em guessing.

Yes, We're Talking 'bout Your Mama!

So, the question before us now, as we examine the way women are treated around the world, the way women treat themselves and others, and the special pleasures and many responsibilities that fall upon the shoulders of the goddess in modern incarnation is: Is this what we truly want to manifest? How do we want to create our world? And what do we envision as our legacy.


That is the invitation. Well, it is a part of it.


The other part is a warm and cordial welcome. Come in!

Dig it!

The earliest form of attempting to wretch an examination the human condition, and celebrating the gifts of natures has been, in every civilization that has been dug up, covered, excavated, and examined --in a desire to find out about the origin of our Homo sapiens past provided evidence of earth worship, awe at the miracle of creation, and creativity devoted to lore and legend of the Divine Feminine.

                                                                                                                 

We're talking about the cycles. Generation and regeneration. Maturation, nurturance and abundance.


Does this mean putting women on a pedestal? Hardly.  Favoring one sex or gender over another? (Goddesses forbid!)  It is simply recognizing the gifts and work, and well… that building, beautifying, and bemused creativity and inventiveness that women -- and those who know and love them -- do so very, very well.


This leads us to Goddesses Gone Wild -- celebrating and examining the juicy, succulent, and inviting.

The F word

Let us speak of the feminine divine -- and the divinely feminine.
Carl Jung posited both sexes contain a part of the consciousness of the other: the anima is the female aspect(s) of the biologically male; the animus the male perspective(s)of the biologically female. A fine thing, according to the good Doc.


Now, as of late, the "F" word has gotten a bad rap in some circles. Yes, it is Feminism. And Feminism is fine. Flirty. fraught with meaning.


Goddesses Gone Wild is a venue to explore the joy of femininity. All are welcome.