SHAVINGS FROM MY HEAD

Sometimes things in my current life just seem to effortlessly roll me in the direction of a new one—unexpectedly colliding with my current me to construct a renovated me. When this happens (to me anyway) the outcome produces a surreal result: like those movie scenes when someone dies and they don’t know it yet, leaving them watching over the remains of their past life while no longer in it. Physically gone yet mentally aware. Taking apart, then reconstructing the details of my new (palm springs) home has once again evoked the aforementioned movie moment.

Although the (above) snap is (Mini) Me painting, (He photographs better) the surreal occurrence actually happened while tearing out the bathroom of my new abode—which started with: Humm…this molding looks dated. To, I think there needs to be a pocket door here. Which morphed into ripping off the (bad 80s) shower doors. To, this built-in is a waste of space. Finally concluding with an empty room and visions of myself languishing in a spa tub, in what will (hopefully) become my new bathroom. Although I wasn’t in my new life yet, I could see it clearly.

All the while, between dodging broken tiles and airborne chips of wood, my I Pod was cycling through my library folder of 80s music. Thus, when I sat to post this snap—along with a little musing—the first thing that popped into my head was the 1981 hit Tainted Love by English techno pop /duoband Soft Cell.

I suppose the combination of old tunes, a new home (and the rhyming of painted and tainted) got me thinking about how much my life has changed since the eighties—my bleachy-streaked Duran Duran mullet, my school time in the UK—as well as my countless evolutions and homes. In my past lives I’ve been: a (teen) model, a makeup artist, a student, a fine artist, a stylist, a fashion designer, a toy designer, an art director and a writer. With each of these renovations, brought various challenges; forms of friendship and love, as well as with all sorts of definitions of home.

As I considered all of my past lives, I thought of Buddha.

Buddhist practice says that the attachment to a permanent self in this world of change is an obstacle to liberation. To advance my happiness, my change, I do my best to release the past while applying my method of liberation: decorate it, then enjoy it…for as long as it lasts….while understanding that it will not be forever.

My friends compare me to Auntie Mame (the Rosalind Russell version)—as I am always morphing my existence/home into another “period”. This observation is seen outwardly, evoking statements like “Oh, he’s in his pink and yellow phase now!” (Which is true.)

But inwardly, change is also churning through my organs, my being; constantly considering the transiency of things.

And with this recent change, this evolution of my being, I am once again reminded that home, (although this sounds totally corny), is however you define it. And, that it changes every day, with a fresh coat of paint or the latest bathtub or a new friend that crosses the threshold.

I suppose how one chooses to look back, to view the past events of your life, impacts how you proceed forward; how you view and ultimately embrace change…or home. Or a new year.

Thus

…home today,

then gone tomorrow

……along with another year.