A Look Back at "Portrait of a Painter"

I went through some old CDs tonight and came across a disc from a photo session I did with a friend 8 years ago called "Portrait of a Painter". I had just started painting, probably around 2005, and knowing this, my friend Nicolle Cabrales asked me to sit for a project for her, to which I enthusiastically agreed.

Looking through this CD of photos was hard. I was overweight at the time (still eating meat and animal products), and unhappy with life in general- I was stuck in a town I hated, finding it hard to move forward in life at 21 because I was still poor, still struggling to move on from the pain of a rough home life, and at the beginning of a breakup with a good man that Fall. But I found joy when I painted, I found freedom. While painting in the middle of the shoot, I asked if I could undress and paint the rest of the session naked, and luckily, my friend went with it. It felt freeing, empowering, and right. I ended up spending several years around this time taking nude photographs while I explored my eye as a photographer, and spent many years posing nude for different photographer friends because it not only helped them to build their portfolios; it helped me to feel alive in my own skin. My body wasn't perfect and I knew it, but when doing something I loved, it didn't matter- art SHOULD be about throwing off all that keeps us from being IN IT. Here are a few shots from that shoot that I still love.

All photos © Nicolle Cabrales 2007

I've gotten better at painting since then, thankfully.

The Truth About Love

I feel utterly broken. Love has ruined me forever, the having it and not having it. All the men I meet are broken because parts of them are still with their exes, leaving me and every other woman they'll meet with just bits and pieces of them instead of the whole we deserve. And, in turn, leaving pieces of us with them, we become broken, piecey people unable to fully give because we, too, are with others elsewhere. So if we're to conclude that the more we love those we can't have, and the more we give of ourselves to those who don't want us, the less there is to give to the people who would love us, meaning that the longer we go through this dating ritual, the more fucked up all the people we will meet will be. I can't go forward with this anymore. At only 28, I'm too exhausted to continue. I don't believe in love anymore. I don't believe in romance. I don't believe it will happen, and perhaps it never has. Perhaps it's all been an elaborate ruse designed by the lovelorn in ages past to make us want, to make us long, to make us yearn for the thing that was never attainted because, truly, SECRETLY, it was never attainable. We are all liars and frauds fooling ourselves and each other every day we go on searching for love that doesn't and can't exist.

Love is a lie we tell to give us something to suffer for because we feel it's heroic, noble, or even admirable.

Finally, at only 28, I can say that I don't believe in love anymore. Like with Santa and the Tooth Fairy, I have finally been given the truth: it was all make-believe.

And I can't pretend anymore.

Love never was.

I am someone who is looking for love.

And another one bites the dust. The guy I've been seeing tells me tonight that he's still not over his ex. So, the amazing time we've been having together has all been in vain. I'm looking for someone with whom I can build a life, with whom I can share my love and my passions. And once again, it hasn't happened, and I'm teetering dangerously on the idea that I may never find it. I'm exhausted, crushed, and heartbroken.

Mistakes can yeild breakthroughs

So, the long and short of it is that I made a mistake last weekend. I got carried away in a feeling, and it led me down a potentially dangerous path. Worst of all, it didn't make me feel better. It didn't quell that sadness left behind by my ex. It didn't fill the void, not even temporarily. It wasn't rooted in love, nor anything like it. So, I have felt empty this week and worried about the consequences. All I can do is continue to breathe and move forward, which I've been doing with remarkable grace, all things considered.

Where I am today? Well, I went on a WONDERFUL date last night with a kind man, who also happens to be vegetarian, and exceptionally gorgeous. We started out with dinner at a vegan restaurant in the village, where we had AMAZING quesadillas and taquitos, we had vegan ice cream at my favorite shop (also in the village), and we walked all over the city. We walked through Chinatown and Little Italy, we walked over Manhattan Bridge and the Brooklyn Bridge. We rode through the abandoned train station under City Hall. And we never ran out of things to talk about or had any lulls in the conversation. It was completely organic, sincere, and euphoric. In all, we had an 8-hour long first date, and it was pretty much magic. There was a kiss, too, so that was sweet. ;) Basically, we had an excellent time together, and we are going out again this Saturday to go rock climbing (I forgot to mention that he is a climber and has insanely sexy arms)! This meeting alone has rejuvenated me. I was in a dark, lonely place this past week in which I was ready to give up on love entirely. The animal passions can't be the only things that drive us; they're empty. We have to be made for more. We have to be made for love. I know it. And with just a GLIMPSE into my night with this awesome guy, my suspicions have been confirmed.

What a wonderful reminder that it's all gonna be ok, and all is not lost.

I have dates lined up every night this week, actually, including tonight. I went on a date tonight with a guy I'd recently met, but I definitely don't feel any chemistry, and the attraction is not entirely there. The same can be said of the guy I'm going out with tomorrow. This is how I have amassed so many male friends, lol. I have a date scheduled for Friday to go to the Met with a cute Jewish guy (one of my weaknesses), and while I'm looking forward to it, I don't know that the chemistry is there. We spoke on the phone today, and he was pleasant, for sure; he just seemed nervous. We'll see. Regardless of how any of my upcoming dates go, I can't ignore the chemistry I've found with this other guy and how giddily excited I am to see him this weekend. Is this the beginning of something good? :)

My Name's Amanda, and I'm an Addict.

It's been raining in New York City for three days. Finally, the weather matches the way I've been feeling on the inside, glimpses of sunlight speaking of my innate optimism and idealistic ideas that the world is still inherently good, as are its people.

It's a tricky thing, to be hurt. If you allow it, or more specifically, if I allow it, sadness can consume me. My cousin Carmen and I talk very openly about everything, and we confide a lot in each other. I have talked to her about the troubles that have been plaguing me, and she said it was our damned addictive Galzerano genes. For a little backstory about that: my mother's family, with the exception of my mother perhaps, suffers from addictive behaviors. Almost all of my aunts and uncles, as well as many of my cousins, are alcoholics and drug users. I always felt really relieved that these tendencies skipped me and my siblings, but what I think I did inherit is the intensity of those addictions in other ways. I am a very passionate person, and I've always known this. I consider it a blessing and a curse. As an actor and advocate, it is truly a gift in that I am able to channel my feelings, emotions, and intentions into various creative and/or beneficial outlets. It is also a curse because I am a dweller. If something bothers me, I can't stop thinking about it until the problem has achieved resolution. Fights and arguments will plague me for days and weeks, possibly months if left unresolved. Hurtful things someone I care about said will keep me up at night. I will lose sleep over the what-ifs and the I-wishes of the situation instead of laying it to rest. No alcoholism or drug use for me, but instead, perhaps a more potent poison; the inability to be at peace in peril.

Over time, I can let go of things, but when I start thinking about how things turned out, it may come up again. For instance, the car accident caused by the woman on her cell phone. She injured me physically and mentally, and now that I live in New York and rarely drive, it is easier to separate myself from it; however, when I am driving or am in a city with heavy traffic, it tends to start to all come back, and I start to relive it. It stresses me out. Perhaps because the settlement is still pending, I don't have closure, and don't feel I can move on. The same thing goes for the upsets in my life. If I've had cross words with someone, or if a relationship has been damaged, it keeps me awake, it causes me stress, and I can think of little else.

Last night, I was talking with my youngest roommate, Aly. I am older than both of the girls I live with, and am in nearly all ways, the adult matriarch of this apartment. I have had more life experience, probably more partners, and more experience in love than them both. Aly, I know this for sure. She has never been in a true relationship, so I feel kind of lucky that I can pass on what wisdom I've gained in my time in the field to her so that (maybe) she can avoid some of the mistakes I've made and the pitfalls I've found when dealing with men. Anyway, I've recounted to her my past loves and my experiences, detailing in some ways each man that I've had and how he changed me. We talked mostly of my longest relationship because it seemed the most likely to bear fruit. He was- IS- a good man. We didn't part ways because there wasn't love there; it just didn't work. I hate knowing that. Even more, I hate knowing that I hurt him when I called it off. We couldn't be friends for a while because we needed separation in order to regain our senses of self and to start moving on. But a year or two ago, we reconnected. More specifically, I found him. He had just gotten out of a four year relationship with the woman whom he'd dated after me. I know he's heartbroken. Aly commented that he's a longterm man. I thought about that for a minute. I thought, well, of course he is. He has so many incredible qualities, and he is a loving partner. He has his downfalls, for sure, but I wasn't without mine. People get together with him and stay with him because he's someone with whom you can imagine a life. He's a man with whom you feel safe. I always felt safe with him. Not only because we were friends first and I knew his character, but because something about being in his presence made you feel cared for, protected, and nurtured. It breaks my heart to know that he's had his heart broken so many times, that he can never just get it right with a woman.

I asked him when we reconnected if he'd like to meet, as I was about to move to New York and didn't know if we'd get the chance later. Understandably, he was not in a place emotionally where he could see me. I was disappointed, but I accepted it. Now, I am going home for a week in July to visit my loved ones and finish some unfinished business. I asked if he'd like to meet while I'm in town- he said yes. So, I have thought often of this and imagined all the things that could happen. How am I to know? It's been 6, almost 7 years. We've both had loves since and lost them, moved, changed, grown. What could I imagine that will actually happen? Nothing. I know nothing. Will he be happy to see me? Will it make us sad? Will we reminisce about the life we had together or the life we were planning together? It's still so alien to me when I consider that if we'd stayed together, we could have a toddler. I could be a mother. My life would be very different. I regret nothing except that finding myself meant losing someone I loved very much. I know he grew from it and went on to date a woman he loved, likely more deeply than he loved me, as they had more time together. But I can't stop IMAGING the meeting. The one thing I know and the one thing I am looking forward to more than anything is hugging him and seeing his smile. He had the warmest hugs and the most INCREDIBLE smile I've still ever seen. Dentists must weep when they see him, it's so beautiful. And his laugh was so infectious that no matter your mood initially, you'd feel warm when he laughed, tingly all over because it echoed throughout your entire being. I cannot wait to see him...

I think the anticipation for all the resolutions I'm seeking is tearing me apart. I am feeling torn in so many places by so many encounters, good and bad alike, that I don't quite know how to feel about it all. I want you, but I feel rejected by you. I know you want me, but I don't think you quite know in what ways. I know that also part of my Galzerano genes is my inherent tenacity and inability to give up. Perhaps that is another part of the blessing; I'm not a quitter. HAHAHA! I guess that does make me an addict. I won't quit. I don't know how to quit you. I don't know how to snuff out this interest that you've ignited in me. I wanted to be friends, and I politely ignored your advances because maybe I knew this about myself already. I think I knew that I didn't want to blur the line between friends and lovers because I was afraid of this very thing happening. Sex changes everything. And once changed, it can't be undone. So I suppose I need resolve one way or another. Either we put up the friend zone and keep its barriers steadfast, or we see just how deep the rabbit hole goes. Either way, leaving things as undone as they are has me up at night imagining things so much that I am losing sight of what's real and what's fantasy. Save me from this agony. Tell me. Be open with me. Fix this. Because now you know that I don't know how to just let it go.

Cleaning Out

I'm cleaning out my inboxes tonight. So much of my life has become the noise of other people's thoughts that it's hard for me to move forward with a clear head. Even the remnants of others' presence are louder than I'd like. Going through my inboxes, I am finding dozens of emails from Ross, all incredibly sweet, loving, and thoughtful. I know that what we had was good, so the fact that it ended so abruptly and without explanation still hurts. A lot changes in love when we make big decisions, and a lot can be lost. When I moved to New York, I had no intention of continuing to see him because I was ready to start my new life. Somehow, we carried our fling into a relationship, and while we had it, it was good. We had love. But I had already done long distance with a man I loved deeply, and it broke our hearts when, after a year and a half together, it didn't work. The distance was too much. We still loved each other too much to just be friends, so our friendship was lost, too. Not wanting to go through it all again, but already being attached to Ross, I suggested that we keep our relationship open so that neither of us would feel burdened by the distance; after all, his move to New York was still so up in the air, we had no way to know it would happen at all, let alone when. I thought keeping our relationship open while we were apart was fair to both of us, and while he agreed to it, he wound up resenting me for it. Despite the love, it wasn't enough. So he left. That was January of this year, a time I am ready to tuck away.

I find messages from Jesse, a man who was exciting and kind, and my first New York romance. We had many months of fun and closeness, but we were sexually incompatible, and I'm not one to pretend that it could work. So, it didn't. His messages must be put away.

Further back, I find photos and messages from Brandon. Our relationship ended as quickly as it began. I am ready to push these into the past.

When I look even further back, I find photos of me with RJ, the doctor I was falling for, and it has only hints of sadness. He would text me every morning for the months that we dated, and he always made me feel important. Photos of him wearing my ties to work are popping up, photos from our Thanksgiving together, all of these photos from distantly happy times. We called it off when we realized I was going to New York, and he wasn't. He taught me so much about myself in love, in sex, and in humanity. He treated me well, and he was a good man. But his photos have to be tucked away.

As far back as they go, I am still finding emails, photos, and chats with Jan Michael. Our strange love story spanned half a decade, and he was the great love of my young life. We grew up together, and I wouldn't be who I am had we not had our time together, nor would he. He taught me about loving, losing, and letting go. This was also the first friendship I had that turned into a relationship, so it was my first taste of losing. We managed to maintain our friendship, but not without periods of separation and exploration. After over a decade, he is someone with whom I still share a genuine love and understanding. But these emails and photos have to be put away.

All of these glimpses into the past, not to mention flash-in-the-pan romances and encounters, have me exhausted and wanting to retire from the love game. I don't see the point anymore. I met a man recently with whom I have an inexplicable chemistry. I want to be close, but he pushes me away with each attempt to get close, leaving him feeling pressed upon and me feeling rejected. And he refuses to engage with me in any real sort of way, so once again, I feel burned. If I am honest, I think he just wants to engage with me in a sexual way and pretends to care about me in order to win my affection without having to work for it. I don't know him well enough to say definitively, but I wonder if he has a habit of working women this way because he is afraid of getting burned, as he claims he has been in the past. I am not the type to give up on things or people, but I am just exhausted. I'm tired of being rejected by someone I care about and am trying to love, or, at the very least, like.

I met another man recently that gave me hope. His name is Steven, and he is genuinely one of the most attractive men I have ever seen in my life, like a cross between a clean-shaven David Beckham and someone devastating. He has a sleeve of tattoos on his right arm, and his body was RIPPED. Even through his clothes, I could see that this is a man who takes care of himself and takes pride in his body. He was quiet at first (we were both working an event), but about an hour into our morning together, he had permanently set up camp by me while his dog sniffed bags for bombs. We spent hours talking and joking, and he liked watching me be ridiculous and dance like an idiot. I made him laugh. :) I guess because I assumed a man this good-looking couldn't possibly be into me, I didn't bother even entertaining the idea that he could like me. I'm an attractive woman, and I've always dated attractive men, but this is a man straight out of GQ. That would be new territory for me. How could I even fathom it? But we had chemistry. He was kind and engaging, despite his innate shyness, and he made me feel beautiful. He made me feel funny. He made me feel worthwhile. I have never and will never DEPEND on a man to make me feel anything, but the fact that he made me feel special and desirable makes me think I shouldn't give up on love. For all I know, this could be the sole purpose of our encounter- I may never see him again. But it was a reminder that I don't have to hold out hope for a man who pushes me away or long for a man who resented my good intentions and left. I deserve love. I deserve respect. I deserve a partner who brings out the best in me, isn't afraid to get close to me, isn't afraid to fight with me, and definitely isn't afraid to be vulnerable with me.

So, I am pushing it all into the archives of my inboxes so as to make new room for good love.