Haight Street

Me encanta San Francisco cuando llueve, especialmente alrededor de Haight Street. Los árboles, las calles, todo se ve tan bonito, casi europeo, como si fuera el comienzo de una novela y yo fuera la protagonista.

Entré a varias tiendas vintage, pero no compré nada pero el olor intenso a ropa antigua me dio un poco de alergia.

Siempre que camino por esta calle, no puedo evitar recordar los tiempos del BTC, cuando tocábamos música en la calle y hacíamos teatro. Eramos muy jovenes entonces.

Me llama la atención que, a pesar de que esta calle ha cambiado mucho, todavía se ve gente que mantiene un estilo único y creativo al vestir, pero ya no se ven el tipo de artistas callejeros de antes. 

Hay otras memorias que no tienen nada que ver con San Francisco. Por ejemplo, hay una esquina completamente decorada en estilo psicodélico, con colores fluorescentes y vibrantes. Siempre que paso por allí, me trae recuerdos de un póster que mi papá pintó en ese mismo estilo. También a las decoraciones que mi tío René hizo para el Circo. El olor a incienso, de las tiendas Budistas, traen recuerdos de mi papá, de los tiempos que viví con Juan,  recuerdos del instituto etc. 

Luego me hizo realizar, que siempre he sentido una conexión con esa época de los años sesenta, una época que experimente en los 70's, tal vez porque en El Salvador, todas las modas llegaban tarde, o porque mí Papá de alguna forma la extendió, con la decoración, con la música, con el estilo de vida. 

Otra nota: Siempre me he fijado en que, en el área del Richmond District, especialmente en las zonas residenciales, hay muy pocas o casi ninguna persona negra. Es cuando paso de Masonic Street que comienzan a verse más afroamericanos, particularmente en Haight Street, Fulton y obviamente en Fillmore y sus alrededores, pero en esta area no.  No sé si es solo una percepción mía, pero me da la impresión de que en las zonas donde hay más gente asiática, hay menos personas negras, y viceversa.  

Me dio curiosidad y encontre este articulo, que mas o menos explica la razon: 

https://exhibits.stanford.edu/riseup/feature/asian-americans-and-african-americans-points-of-unity-and-discord

Beyond Reasonable Doubt

​I have gathered enough evidence (from personal experience and from just observing society) to conclude that doubt is never entirely eliminated. Even when substantial evidence appears to support someone’s account, the possibility of error remains.

There are countless examples of cases that were considered proven “beyond reasonable doubt” that were later overturned. 

Courts, juries, investigators, and entire communities have collectively agreed on a version of events, only to discover years later that they were all wrong. 

There is always the possibility of mistakes, assumptions, pressure, misjudgment etc. 

Jurors are supposed to stay away from news and outside information, as to remain impartial with their decisions, however a lot of the dynamics of the trial itself can cloud the view of someone in the wrong direction. 

I think of the case where the mother was convinced the suspect was guilty; she never actually admitted it, but provided enough non verbal evidence. When she gave her testimony, she led the jury to conclude that the accused was guilty, when in fact, he was completely innocent. 

There are so many factors that can influence someone’s judgment. I feel “beyond reasonable doubt” is weak, fragile. 

There are always reasons to doubt beyond reason. 

Sueños

​I am in a classroom filled with students. I am about to take a test. I realized that there is a part of the test i didn’t study. Is about spirituality in general, somehow I feel I didn’t need to study for that. 

Still, I think that maybe I should read something before the test starts. 

I am looking inside my bag for the book and I don’t have it. I asked other students around if I can borrow theirs. 

One girl for whatever reason is reluctant.  I somehow get a hold a book. The writing is super small, I can’t read it. There are pages with illustrations. I decided to take photos of the book instead. 

Now, I am in line to talk to my teacher. He and I are friends, not sure how. Every one is on the line to ask about the test. Me and the teacher have a special relationship, again don’t know how; but the other students are aware of our friendship and are kind of jealous or are expecting some special treatment with me. ( Very similar to my philosophy teacher in high school, same thing. Perceiving that my classmates think we are romantically involved only because we share the same enthusiasm for the subject)  

I reached the teacher, he is a mix of my philosophy teacher and a mix of Curioso.  

One girl is super jealous (Jules) The moment she sees that I am about to talk to the teacher, she started making fun and turned around and showed us her behind. There was something written on it, but can’t remember what it was. 

The teacher super calmly started pointing out things on the book for me. 

My stepmother is also around, sort of talking badly of me with someone else. I feel everyone is against me, or they don’t want me to pass the test. 

I also asked another student a question about something I couldn’t read, she ignored me. 

I need to use the bathroom, and I go to a long hallway (i’ve seen this place before in my dreams) - I found the entrance. 

There is one room, with the toilets right next to each other; none of the toilets are flushed. Lots of the look nasty. Some of them with menstrual blood. I get angry and I said aloud: Is it hard to flush the toilets after you use them? 

I can’t remember what happened after that. 

Sueños

Lo único que recuerdo es que estaba en la calle. Había una conmoción, como si un accidente acabara de ocurrir. Al parecer, un policía tropezó accidentalmente con una señora, y el bebé que ella llevaba cayó al suelo. El bebé lloraba, y otro policía regañaba al que había causado el accidente.

Luego me veo detrás de una van conducida por gente muy extraña. Para empezar, todos son extremadamente obesos y llevan un maquillaje exagerado, como de carnaval. Están persiguiendo a su mono, una de sus mascotas, que se ha escapado. Quieren atraparlo antes de que la policía lo haga.

En su intento por alcanzar al mono, manejan de forma bastante imprudente. Pienso que son los que están causando accidentes. 

Lo sentí!

​como un aroma que llegó de la nada a mis olfatos, 

por unos segundos, una imagen borrosa llegó a mi memoria. 

una invención mía, quizás, pero igual, si que pasó! 

lo interesante es que ha llegado, puntual a mi buzón. 

Digo puntual, porque no es la primera vez que siento algo y justo después llega. 

coincidencia? 

otra distorsión de la realidad? 

por ahora, solo dejamos notas...

Reflections on Reflections

Last night, I was at the gym on the bike. Reflected in the mirror in front of me was the screen of a TV. From where I was, it looked like they were playing a movie about businessmen having a meeting in one of those fancy New York high-rises. I finished on the bike, turned around, and moved to another machine that was closer to the TV. That’s when I realized the movie wasn’t live-action at all. It was animated, a cartoon with animals dressed like businessmen. It surprised me. A super mind-bending moment. I didn’t have my lenses on, so I had been watching the reflection of the movie, already sort of blurry. And yet what was happening on screen was it had just enough visual information for my brain to interpret them as humans. Is like my memory filled in the gaps. 

Makes me wonder, how many other misperceptions are happening and we don't realize it. 

Last night or early this morning, I dreamt that I wanted to get out of a place, but the two doors for exit were blocked by dogs; hours later,  I have the same experience at the Simple Pleasures Cafe. Not the exact same image, but enough visual information, to connect that moment with the dream.  In the dream world, there is no time/space rule,  is hard to say which one is a reflection of the other one. One thing is clear, in the 'real world' I did get a bit annoyed that the exits were being blocked and that the ladies were not in a rush to move their animals out of the way; it bothered me. In the dream, the dogs that are on the leash, are super large and threatening but they are on a leash; a reflection of my over reaction; the puppy in the middle is cute and playful; Which makes me think that the two large dogs, are in real life the two ladies, the dog owners; I got annoyed at them, I thought they were rude, for prioritizing their dogs; but when I looked down and saw their cute puppies, I smiled, I would never get angry at a cute puppy. Difficult to say, which one is the reflection of the other one, at this point, all I can do is write about it, make note of it. Like if I just woke up, and found myself in super, super dark cave. And I am just starting to explore, so I have to leave some sort of thread, to mark, measure the territory...

The Automated Attendant

Automated Attendant: 

 An automated attendant is a system that allows a client calling an agency to be transferred to the appropriate resources without the intervention of a live individual. Generally, these attendants will broadcast a message to the caller that lists a menu of options that can be selected using a phone’s keypad. For example, the caller may press “1” to be connected to the sales department of the insurance agency or press ”2” to make changes to their existing policy. Such a system improves the customer experience since it facilitates the likelihood that the client will be connected with who they need to speak to without dealing with multiple transfers. Another benefit of an automated attendant is that it can be used to consistently communicate important messages to customers. 

AI Chatbots: 

Chatbots are programs that have natural conversations with humans using text, generally to provide information or resolve common issues. According to the NAIC, over 80% of large U.S. insurers have some AI solutions in place.

This technology is an effective way of offering services to clients at all times of day. There are several ways that chatbots can be implemented. Some companies may use them similarly to automated attendants and have them direct clients to where they can have their questions answered or filter them to a live individual once the client’s issue has been identified. 

Other companies have employed chatbots to automate certain portions of the client experience entirely. For example, insurtech company Lemonade allows individuals to file a claim entirely through an automated chatbot via their mobile device. Recently, with the proliferation of AI models like ChatGPT, the capabilities of chatbots have become more advanced, with chatbots being able to have open-ended conversations with clients, offering a new level of personalization to the automated service experience. 

One example of this is the Risk & Insurance Education Alliance’s AI knowledge bot, Allibot. This chatbot employs ChatGPT and Elasticsearch to answer technical insurance questions using information pulled from the Alliance’s large catalogue of educational material. Technology like this could be used externally to answer client questions or internally to assist agency workflows. For example, some agencies are beginning to utilize AI or bots to perform certain basic tasks within an agency workflow, such as confirming correct spelling of a client’s name and address, confirming coverage limits, and following up with carriers on open claims. 

Los Perros de mis sueño

I've just seen the dogs in my dream. I am at the coffee shop, and there is a huge line, and I am looking around trying to find a table for me. At the door, there is a lady with two cutsie fuzzy small dogs. They are barking, I can't get out the door, because the dogs and the lady are blocking it. I tried the door right next to it. Another lady with another dog. None of them seem concern that a person is trying to go through the door. Very similar to the dream. 

I was wondering why I like coming to coffee shops so much. I discover interesting people sometimes. Today, I guy is sitting making some amazing drawings. Another guy is writing poetry. The feeling that people comes to this coffee shops to do something, to create, to read...I like that energy. I always get intrigued about some of them. Like the dude at the other coffee shop. I am 100% sure he is a musician. I've never been wrong about this. Is not just his long messy hair, is the way he looks into the void when listening to his headphones,  as some one who is really enjoying what he is listening. Keep seeing him around, and even recognize his car now. Even the car he rides tells me a lot. Dirty, old bmw old model is not some one that is concern with the car he drives. Rare to find these days. 

Another reason why I like coffee shops, is the people I observe, the families with their children, the women that meet to talk about life and everyday stuff with their girlfriends. The little children always looking so excited and happy to be in a coffee shop.  

I like it because is a way to be together, without being on top of each other.  I also like that I have no control over the music, and is let to random, and sometimes there is a song or a particular piece of music that triggers something in me, like a memory, or a feeling. Or butterflies, like right now, I feel butterflies inside me. 

Esperando que termine el dia...

Finalmente me llegó el título para esta pintura: “Esperando que termine el día.” Me gusta el titulo en español, pero no se si en ingles suena igual de poetico: "Waiting for the day to end" "waiting for the night to come" .... tengo que pensar como traducirlo en ingles. 

"Esperando que termine el dia" Es precisamente lo que esta señora se sienta a hacer en esta esquina. Se sienta a esperar… a esperar que el día termine, para poder regresar al lugar que le prestan para dormir.

Esta foto la tomé ayer, y he notado que su rostro se ve más estresado, un poco más quemado por el sol. También me di cuenta de que tiene una escoba nueva y que ahora sus productos personales están detrás de ella: su jabón, sus cremas. Me da la impresión de que todos los días le piden que se levante y recoja sus cosas. Seguramente está desalojada, no tiene un hogar donde vivir, y quizá alguien le presta el piso de un negocio para pasar la noche. Pero al día siguiente tiene que recogerlo todo y salir de nuevo.

Sueños

​I am giving a power point presentation, something isn’t working but can’t remember what it was. 

I am somewhat stressed out about it. 

I am about to exit the place when I go trough one exit, I see a very large angry and aggressive dog, about to fight a small puddle doggie. I noticed the dog is on a leash, very short leash, but still can reach the dog or me. 

The small puppy isn’t scared is just playing. I decided to go through another exit, here is another dog, different type but equally large and aggressive. 

I see a lady on the other side, I asked her if she could pull the dog so I can exit. She tells me yes, but is not in a hurry to help me. 

——-

In another dream: 

I am in a laboratory. There is a skinny guy, sitting on a chair, but his head is wrapped in a pink cloth. The head looks enormous. I am told he is being “reprogrammed” I don’t know if he is a human being or an android. 

At this point I am talking to a guy who is like a scientist and he is sort of explaining how the reprogramming is being done, something about changing the chemistry in the brain. 

I can’t see the face of the guy who is talking to me. He is too tall for me to see it. Is like his head disappears in some sort of fog. 

I get a phone call from Juan. I want to immediately share everything that I am experiencing, but there is static I can’t hear anything. Whatever is going on the lab is affecting the frequency. 

I am about to leave, when I feel some sort of sadness for the guy with the head wrapped. I picked up his hand, and grabbed his finger. I think he feels it. I think he is human. I feel he is there because of no choice.

When I woke up I saw the image of a room filled with headless people, waiting to be reprogrammed. 

 

the most extraordinary journey happens every night

word by word... 

 "Every night, you perform the most mysterious act in the universe you lie down, close your eyes, and then, you vanish. Not your body, Not your breath, but YOU, the one who thinks, plans, worries, remembers, simply disappears. 

And here is what will disturb you, you have absolutely no idea where you go. Tonight, when you surrender to sleep, you'll dissolve into something so profound, so utterly beyond your daily understanding. that if you truly grasp what happens, you'd never take consciousness for granted again. But we've been conditioned to treat this daily death and resurrection as ordinary. 

How fascinating that the most extraordinary journey you'll ever take happens every night and you've been sleep walking your entire life"

Ariel Gold

Stopped by Antique Store, spotted an art piece by Ariel Gold- I was just thinking about her this morning. I had a long chat about her, with the lady at the store. She also knew Ariel. 

We shared our experiences and anecdotes, and how we were both in shock to learn about her death. It was during Covid- it made it so hard. 

It was nice to remember her though. Her husband moved to Florida, and re-married.  Makes sense, incredible it’s been 6 years already in March. Ariel! 

Photos for possible paintings- 

ojos tristes

​Será que mis ojos también son tristes? 

Los ojos de Poe

​Un sketch rápido de los ojos tristes, dulces y llenos de sabiduría de Poe 

Que no se me olvide...

Que no se me olvide nunca el aroma marino y la belleza de la costa. 

Pienso que algun dia, me tendre que ir de aquí, ya sea a otra ciudad muy lejos o de regreso a a mi país,  

se que voy a extrañar este olor, este aire, el sonido de estos pajaros. Estas mañanas de frias de niebla, y las que son soleadas, los bellas puestas de sol, las lunas de invierno. 

Lo sé, sé que lo voy a extrañar. 

No sé por qué me siento un poco nostálgica, pensando en las cosas que terminan, en las cosas que cambian.

Pero es posible que todo sea porque me he pasado toda la semana leyendo cosas tan terrenales como insurance… 

Este fin de semana me voy a desatar, sola en el estudio.

Doug está insistente en que vaya a su estudio a pintar con él. Sí quiero hacerlo, pero todavía no. Necesito, quiero estar sola, retomar mi energía otra vez.

Sueños

​I am at some sort of company event. Is outdoors, there are tables and chairs, it might be a Christmas party. 

I go to a table and find a chair, and sit down. Suddenly I notice that no one is coming to sit with me at my table. I get up and realize that my co workers are all sitting at another table, together and having conversations etc. 

I think this is a good opportunity to escape and leave. I don’t want them to see me. I sneak out trying to hide among other people; when suddenly this other coworker spotted me, she is holding a gift, is the gift that I brought to the party. She wants to thank me for it. 

I somehow still managed to leave. As I am walking out, I wonder what excuse will I give them, as to why I left.  I ran into my ex coworker Norma, outside. She tells me that people overestimate those parties. Something like that. 

In another dream, I am back in El Salvador, my grandmother and grandpa are there, every one who is dead is still alive and acting as if nothing has happened.  

I am in the backyard under the trees, there are kids playing. I want to climb a tree but I know grandma gets scared. I see this delicious guayaba, I know I can go up and get it easily. But I don’t want to upset her. 

No examen hoy!

Estoy que me lleva el diablo!

He pasado toda la semana estudiando para hacer mi examen hoy. Temprano, el proctor tuvo problemas técnicos y tuve que posponerlo para después del book club. Tuve la reunión y luego me puse a estudiar por una hora más. Me sentía súper preparada para el test. Estaba a la mitad cuando la maldita website me sacó y ya no me dio la opción de regresar.

Ahora tengo que esperar a que mañana arreglen eso. Otra vez. 

Ya quería salir de insurance, quería regresar al arte, a mis otros libros. 

Pero ni modo, a esperar un día más… qué tortura más grande! 

Lo interesante ha sido que el proctor me hizo encender dos cámaras, la de la computadora y la del teléfono. De repente vi en frente de mi, la imagen mía reflejada en todos lados, desde varias perspectivas. 

Me dio un poco de nervio, era muy parecido a la pintura que me estaba imaginando!! 

literalmente yo mirándome a mi misma!! 

Poe t

​Me encanta su cara asimétrica, sus ojos tristes, su soledad, su dulzura… un alma pura…vuelo a sus brazos! 

Otro Ojo...

Diferente hoy, un poco más centrada que la vez pasada, me baje a la tierra estudiando para mi examen una hora antes de la reunión, y eso ayudó.  

Raro, como todo se siente diferente a veces. Raro, muy raro...blanco- todo blanco. 

Todavía me quedé pensando en la historia de Poe, y también en mis sueños. 

En esos viajes al subconsciente, todo lo que veo, son mis propias proyecciones. 

Proyecciones mias. 

Otro Ojo, idea para una pintura: 

Un pintura de una chica, mirando por un agujero adentro hay un cuarto con dos camas, una ventana. El ojo esta mirando otro ojo reflejado al otro lado del cuarto. Hay una nina acostada en la cama. La otra nina esta jugando afuera de la casa a las muñecas, la nina esta en una replica del cuarto en chiquito. En la venta del cuarto mas grande, otro ojo. 

Sueños

​Estoy en la casa de mi tío René, en el El  Salvador. Allí estoy tomando clases de seguro. 

Hay un salón lleno de gente. Yo estoy platicando con un señor ya mayor. Le estoy dando tips de cómo acordarse de cosas. 

En eso entra, Curioso. Es nuestro profesor. Llega con un abrigo negro, un back pack, y un suéter blanco, y una gorra. 

Se sienta a mostrarnos algo. Como el cerebro traduce los sonidos. De repente es su cabeza sola separada del cuerpo explicando. Es como un holograma. 

El señor que está conmigo se asustó y piensa que es brujería. Yo me río, y le digo que precisamente lo es. Solo que en camara lenta. 

Curioso está hablando de cómo los toddlers, los niños que apenas comienzan a hablar, balbucean sus palabras, que nadie más entiende pero la mamá y el papá si. 

Yo pregunto si es porque los padres han estado cerca del niño o es porque hay una conexión emocional. 

La clase termina, yo quiero quedarme sola con Curiosos, pero el señor no deja de hablar e interrumpir. 

Hay una mujer, rubia muy linda y voluptuosa, en bikini, acostada como posando para una foto. 

Como estoy escuchando estas palabras si no hay nadie hablando? osea no son voces, no hay nada fonético; sin embargo yo escucho lo que la gente dice en mis sueños y lo escribo ahora. 

Lo escrito no es 100% - es una interpretación. Yo recuerdo algunas cosas pero lo demás, lo que no me acuerdo, lo imagino para que tenga sentido. Aunque en el sueño nada tiene sentido.  

Pasaron muchas más cosas. Algo que me voy a mi casa, y me acuesto en mi cama. Están mis hermanas allí. Yo quiero estar completamente sola. Pero hay gente entrando y saliendo del cuarto y eso me enoja. 

Beautiful Morning

​Drops of rain on the windshield, a rainbow on the horizon, the streets, crisp and shining. 

Decided to go down the ocean and take a photo of the rainbow, I was a few minutes late for work. 

It was worth it. 

Although the photo makes no justice! 

Sueños

​First Dream: 

I am going up and down inside a building. The building is kind of abandoned and old. There are many stairs that look unsafe and doors that are broken.  

At different floors I find different people and scenarios. I can’t remember all of them. I do remember going inside of what it looks like an attorney’s office. And they are talking about someone being accused of either closing or not closing the door properly. As I keep moving, I go through a broken door, I opened it and it closed behind me, and I wonder if the same thing happened to the accused. 

In my other dream: I am in the yard of a house. Many people are there, there is a guy who is talking to me through my subconscious like he is talking on the phone. I realize that whatever is in his subconscious is mixing with mine. For example, there is this girl standing in front of me, and her blouse falls off, her breast is exposed. I tell the guy in my subconscious to stop doing that! I say it in a humorous way. I was kind of expecting something like this to happen. 

At the point, my little sister Celeste tells me she wants to go play with the neighbors’s girl. I go out to ask the neighbors but I find 3 dogs fighting outside. The guy in my subconscious tells me to change the dream, to do something different. 

I closed my eyes and started going inside of me. Someone is talking to me about space and the stars. When I opened my eyes, this boy, is sitting in front of me, watching me. He was the one telling me all these things. There is a girl, his girl sitting next to him, looking at a magazine. I started to the guy, and leaned forward and gave him a kiss in his lips. 

We both know his girlfriend is too distracted to notice. I still wonder if she saw us. I turned my head, the guy tells me to let it go and to keep dreaming. 

Quick Notes

​love this corner, love my plants!

 I really enjoyed the rain today. Although it was cold and gloomy earlier. I felt a a sense of melancholy, when I drove around Ocean Beach, under the rain. I took a late break around 3pm. I was extremely busy. I kept getting calls all day. I asked Alexa to play Spanish music from the 80’s and 90’s. My head took a trip to memory land. 

I went to the gym, ran 1 mile again, but this time, didn’t obey my rule: Don’t do more than 1!! I pushed a bit more and did another quarter, and now my foot is extremely sore! I am in a lot of pain right now. I did this to myself. 

Now I have to study for the test and I am finding it difficult to concentrate. 

De que se quejan?

Mis compañeras de trabajo las super buenas y altamente moralistas y correctas— están muy enojadas por lo que pasó en el Super Bowl. Aparentemente, fue un insulto que hubiera un latino cantando. Me hablan como si yo supiera exactamente de qué están hablando. Ja, ja. Ni lo vi, ni me interesa, ni jamas me ha interesado, 

Pero ellas estan bien molestas, se sienten 'ofendidas' y me usan a mí como papel higiénico emocional para limpiar todo el enojo que cargan contra los inmigrantes latinos. 

De pronton, actuan todas serias y distantes... Ah pobrecitas! 

Sarah no pierde la oportunidad de repetir la historia de siempre: cómo su abuelo vino ilegalmente de Polonia durante la guerra y lo rápido que se apresuró a arreglar sus papeles. La misma anécdota que usa para reforzar la idea de que, si otros siguen siendo ilegales, es porque son criminales, o gente mala.

No es algo nuevo, ni que puedo evitar que pase, sigue pasando en todos los trabajos que voy, especialmente en esta industria. 

Hasta donde yo sé, estas señoras no solo son dueñas de sus propias casas, sino que además ganan el doble que yo. Cualquier oportunidad que tengo de avanzar en mi carrera me la bloquean. Entonces, de qué exactamente se están quejando?

Ya no es un enojo con fundamentos. Es algo mas profundo, que viene de la inseguridad de ellas. 

Es una pena! un año mas, y les dire bye bye! o mejor dicho: Hasta Nunca! 

Sueños

​I fell asleep studying insurance. Reading about: Talent Acquisition. 

I dreamt that the rules and structures for HR in general, were designed by women. And that men, had to learn how to navigate through them. 

I remember thinking: “that’s why all of them behave exactly the same. Every agency I worked for, they do and say the same things”. 

My dream was so bizarre. The HR rules were like an ocean filled with junk. The men were getting inside this ocean naked. Some of them had snorkeling devices. Men were getting injured all the time. 

 I remember one fat naked guy, got his penis bitten by something. People laughed as if it was funny. 

Another guy, brought his girlfriend, but couldn’t get any deeper into the ocean of junk, in part because he was afraid of putting her in danger. 

S.M.A.R.T. ART Goals

Applying what I am learning about Insurance Agency Management - to my own: 

SMART -ART GOALS: 

 Specific 

Measurable 

Achievable 

Relevant 

Timed 

Goal: 

To complete  3 series of artwork: 

-Oil painting series, based on urban landscape inspiration (10 paintings)

-Acrylic abstract paintings, based on the cosmos and the subconscious (5 paintings) 

-Collage series, based on dreams, absurdity and surreal landscapes, which I will convert to AI animations. 

(10 collages)

Date Line, July 2026 

The mental chatter

This constant chatter, going on. 

An endless stream of commentary, a narration, a conversation with yourself. about yourself. 

It never stops! 

This internal dialogue is so constant, so pervasive that most people don't even notice it anymore. 

Is like the hum of the refrigerator, that you only hear when someone points it out...

If is your mind, talking to itself, who is the talker and who is the listener? 
are there two of you in there? 
and if there are two, which one is the real you? 
the one doing the talking or the one listening to the talking?

This internal dialogue, 

this constant mental chatter, 

is at the root of almost all human suffering. 

It's the mechanism by which we create anxiety, worry, regret and most of of our psychological pain, and yet, we are so identified with it, that we think is who we really are. 

on and on, 

an endless stream of evaluation and judging

Planning and rehearsing...

Constantly projecting into the future, 

imagining scenarios, talking to people who are not there 

worrying about things that might happen, 

fantasizing about things that wish to happen... 

is constantly reminding you of who you are, your history. your pain, your likes and dislikes. what you are afraid, what you are able and not able to do. 

is like a propaganda machine, working tireless, to convince you that you are this particular character in this particular story. 

Why does the mind do all of this? what's the purpose of this endless chatter?

The mind believes that if it can think of things enough, plan enough, analyze them enough, it can control what happens. 

Is trying to make life safe, predictable, and manageable. 

Trying to avoid pain, and secure pleasure...

But here is the problem, IT DOES NOT WORK. 

all this thinking, planning, worry and analyzing and rehearsing, it does not give you any control. Things happen unexpectedly, people behave in ways you did not anticipate. Yet, the mind keeps on talking, keeps on trying, keeps on believing that if it just think a little harder, plan a little better, worry a little more throughly, it will achieve the control it seeks. 

An illusion, 

all this thinking 

is LIFE thinking about itself 

Life narrating itself, 

Life judging itself...

some thinking is necessary... 

practical thinking is focused. 

it has a specific purporse, 

is like using a tool, you use it when you needed. 

But the compulsive chatter is not practical, it has no purpose. 

is more like a broken record.  It becomes a habit, automatic. 

You are not your thoughts, the voice in you head is not you. 

if you are your thoughts, who is aware of your thoughts? 

Practical thinking arises when needed. 

The mental chatter without purpose, out of habit is ongoing. 

BE HERE NOW 

Begin Anywhere...

Se puede comenzar, desde cualquier lado...por ejemplo, un 9 de Febrero puede ser el dia, en el que se marca un nuevo amanecer, un nuevo despertar. 

Reconocer errores, reconocer que nos equivocamos, promueve la auto reflexion, con la auto reflexion se viene el cambio. 

Comenzaremos hoy, de nuevo. Desde el principio. 

Ahora alerta, de las trampas que yo misma me he tentido. 

Mas conciente de que hay partes que el sujeto observa en otros, pero niega verlas en si mismo. 

Acordarse que, vivimos en medio de un prisma. La luz que irradiamos es lo que se refleja afuera. 

Toda observacion de la realidad, es distorcionada. No se puede confiar en una sola forma de observacion, se tiene que tomar en cuenta otras perspectivas. 

Porque nada es plano, todo en el universo es complejo, lleno de niveles. 

Se puede retomar el camino otra vez, 

se puede comenzar de cualquier lado

un 9 de Febrero, por ejemplo.

Pedir perdon y perdonar. 

perdonarse uno mismo y perdonar al otro. 

Down the Rabbit Hole!

 Hoy me siento un asco de persona...la misma cosa se repite siempre. Una forma de auto sabotearme, buscando un problema donde no lo hay. Y si no lo hay me lo invento...!!! 

Como llegue hasta aqui? esa es la pregunta. 

Es la misma historia, otravez down the rabbit hole, sin ningua conciencia de que estoy cayendo, cada vez mas y mas abajo... convencida de que estoy en completo control. Mentira! 

Alli, esta el auto-sabotage. Convencerme a mi misma, que estoy en lo correcto, que estoy pensando y observandolo todo objetivamente y lo peor, convencerme de que mi observacion es la unica valida. 

Me lo digo a mi misma, y me lo creo. Que verguenza. 

Sin darme cuenta, que poco a poco me voy acercando mas al precipicio. 

No es tan diferente que otros rabbit holes, es lo mismo. Es el mismo, el mismisimo de siempre. Porque siempre despierto en el mismo lugar, en la misma zona. La zona en donde empiezo a dudar, de mi misma, porque no hay evidencia de lo que hablo, todo otra vez parace venir de una historia que forme en mi cabeza. 

Luego usar chatgpt...que vergonzoso. 

23 Calle Oriente

Hoy me dio curiosidad ver cómo ha cambiado mi viejo barrio. Abrí Google Maps e intenté navegar hasta encontrar el camino de mi casa por mí misma, pero me perdí: no logré reconocer ni una sola esquina. Por más que lo intenté, no conseguí ubicarla. 

Finalmente, tuve que poner la dirección en el mapa hasta llegar a la casa. Creo que esta es una foto del 2023 

Me llama la atencion, como ha conservado algo, aunque este bastante vieja y descuidada ya. Me gustaria poder entrar virtualmente, y ver como es por dentro. Recorrer otravez todas esas esquinas en las que me gustaba esconderme del resto. 

La 23 Calle Oriente 

La casa de mi Tio Rene-  en donde me hubiera gustado haber vivido. Esta muy bien mantenida y cuidada. Me pregunto quien vive ahi?

La casa de Ruth, parece que la vendieron...increible, ver tantos cambios. Esta casa fue mi refugio. Aqui encontre a mi mejor amiga, y a una familia normal. Demasiado normal. Pero fue esa normalidad la que me trajo un poco de estabilidad entre tanto caos. 

Progresos

​Anoche iba solo a trabajar y en el collage. Pero no pude resistirme a hacer algo con esa pintura que comencé hace 3 años y me está costando trabajo resumir. Claramente perdí el camino. Nada de lo que me pasé horas y horas pintando cuidadosamente, me inspira ahora. 

Sentía una necesidad interna de hacer un cambio radical. La medio borré, pero dejé los rastros abajo de la otra, para ver si eso me ayuda visualmente a crear el efecto de dimensión que busco. 

Luego ya no me quedo mucho tiempo para el collage pero va avanzando: 

Sueños

​Estoy platicando con unas mujeres, sobre la historia de las máquinas de cocer. Ellas me cuentan cómo al principio, solo servían para un tipo de tela, porque la aguja era muy débil y se quebraba a cada rato. Como poco a poco las fueron haciendo mas fuertes o finas, se inventaron agujas para los diferentes tipos de tela. 

Hay algo sobre eso que, me hizo poner como ejemplo la política. Como que el sistema político como aguja, usando el mismo, para todos. Que por eso se sigue quebrando todo. Algo así. 

En otro sueño está lloviendo, es de noches, estoy en un lugar medio peligroso, parece una zona de Oakland. 

Estoy buscando como tomar el Bart de regreso a la ciudad. Me meto de carrera al tren. Igual sigue todo a oscuras. Pero allí me encuentro con mi amigo Curioso. Y estamos platicando de las estrellas. En eso salimos del tren y comenzamos a subir las escaleras hacia arriba. Yo me doy cuenta que ya no está lloviendo, que el cielo está cubierto de estrellas. El sigue hablando, y como que no se ha dado cuenta, yo le quiero señalar el cielo. 

En otro sueño, quiero rescatar a alguien, a una mujer. Pero la única forma de rescatarla es enseñándole a ella como liberarse, ella misma. Tiene que entender las claves que le mandó. 

Otra vez, se metió la política aquí, como que el sueño cambió ahora, eso de rescatar a la mujer es una historia corta que leí, y la estoy platicando con alguien. Y la uso como ejemplo de lo que le está pasando a Estados Unidos. 

A los Estadounidenses no se les puede salvar o rescatar, de afuera. Porque hay demasiada resistencia. Están convencidos de que lo saben y lo pueden todo,  recibir ayuda externa es aceptar que son incapaces o debiles. La única forma es enseñarles de forma que no se den cuenta como y que ellos mismos aprendan a cómo liberarse. Decía que en el ejemplo de la historia, la infiltración es por medio del subconsciente. 

Aqui, huele a arte

asi como en un gimnasio todo huele a sudor, aqui, en el estudio huele a arte. 

completamente vacio, en la oscuridad, se me cruzo por la mente si sentiria miedo, no de lo de afuera, de eso jamas, estamos super protegidos, pero mas de algo que viene de adentro. Porque todos los lugares, tienen su energia. La energia de un gimnasio, no es la misma que la de una oficina, y asi un estudio de arte, donde diferentes artistas estan entrando y saliendo, y que utilizan el espacio unicamente para crear, la energia es increiblemente bella... y no se puede describir de una forma especifica, vibra en muchas frequencias. 

Mis primeros materiales de arte!

con mi primer sueldo, salí corriendo a la tienda de arte, Diseño en antiguo cuzcatlán, donde me enamore del chico que me ayudo. No tenía los ojos azules, pero se parecía mucho a Frodo. Creo que yo también le gustaba, porque después nos comunicábamos con miradas. Yo no tenia ni idea de lo que queria comprar, el me pregunto que que me gustaba hacer. Le dije, me gusta dibujar… dibujo mucho! le dije. Y el me recomendo los materiales. Termine comprando exactamente estos. Lo se, porque los veia todos los dias. Me puse a dibujar de inmediato...

j

My drawing station

good bye Sofa, hello drawing station!! 

I should write a sticker

artist, don’t need couches, they need multiple work stations! 

Suenos

 I am arriving to what seems to be City College and I am dropping off two paintings, one super large one, an abstract colorful painting, and one smaller, that has more figurative motifs. 

There are other people, there, other artists, my printmaking teacher Anita is there. I get somehow distracted, I walk away, and I open the door, Chandra, is at the other side, I say hello, she says hello kind of distance. I wonder if everything is ok. I started talking to another person, telling them how I met Chandra, and how one time we pranked her with a card congratulating her for her pregnancy. I go back to where my paintings are. Someone wants an explanation of my painting, the small one. I started sort of talking about it. That person says, "is good, but is too small" - At that moment, I realize that every other painting there is huge, large. And my painting, somehow shrinks, looks even smaller. Suddenly, I remember: I did bring another big piece! I say. I go looking for it, and I can't find it. I started to get anxious. My painting is no where to be found. I realized that it has been stolen! 

I get extremely angry, and no one else seems to care, just me. That makes me even more angry. I promise to sue city college. I gave up, looking, I am very sad. I go to the second floor, and from there, I see a pick up truck leaving, and on the truck, there is another huge canvas I also brought. I started yelling: That's my canvas! but the truck left. A feeling of frustration. A feeling that things were being taken from me, and I was unable to stop it or get any support. 

On the second dream, I am at the same place. There is a younger version of me. I am talking to a mathematician, about numbers. I see she (younger me) has a hoodie with some equation on it. I know she has no idea what it means, but she wears it because intuitively she knows it has a bigger meaning. 

I see her looking at herself in the mirror, with the hoodie, like asking who she is. A feeling that I need to let her alone and no answer that for her.

Los bots aman mi arte!

​

Las canciones que escribi

Hoy miraba mi cuadro Rayuela. y, desde ahí, se vuelve evidente mi obsesión con la luna. Siempre mirándola, siempre mirando hacia arriba, hacia las estrellas, quiza porque el mundo de abajo era una mierda. Por eso me obesionaba con mirar el cielo, especialmente en la noche...mirando el espacio, la luna, habia un misterio alli, una esperanza, una realidad alterna. algo mas grande que mi, mas grande que todo el planeta. 

Me vinieron a la memoria, estas canciones que escribi, en esos tiempos oscuros. Hay que escribirlas, antes de que se me olviden por completo...antes de que me muera.

Caminando en el Silencio

Bajo la luz de la luna, 

tiempo para hay soñar 

dejar libre los extraños matices 

del pensamiento. 

Abordando la alegria, 

que te mantiene de pie, 

conjugando verbos en futuro, 

y sonriendo. 

Caminando en el silencio, 

entre el cielo y entre el sol. 

Se asoman los poemas, 

donde se presume amor, 

Arriesgando la alegria, 

ignorando la razon, 

donde se rompen esquemas, 

queda errante el corazon. 

Bajo la luz de la luna, 

con atencion oigo la noche, 

revelando sus extraños secretos 

a una sola voz. 

Baladas de Amor

Dibuja luz en cada oscuridad, 

no hay margarita, sin deshojar. 

Los frios rieles donde va la vida, 

no hay sol que no los haga calentar 

Como una rosa que se pierde en el mar 

como un acertijo sin decifrar, eres tu 

los trinos de un amanecer 

un ave azul que va a volar 

Baladas de amor, 

al amanecer, 

luna llena que brilla, sobre el mar 

el grito de un alma, que 

se pierde en las estrellas, que 

tan solo busca un lugar, 

en donde pueda con toda 

libertad soñar... 

tan solo soñar

Un peldaño mas, que subir, 

una risa, un llanto, que vivir 

pero en lo alto permanece un sol

que no brilla menos, que el dia anterior. 

cuando se cierran todas las salidas, 

hay una venta esperando por ti, 

solo tu, conoces el secreto, 

lo oculta tu corazon 

Baladas de Amor 

al amanecer 

luna llena que brilla sobre el mar, 

el grito de un alma, que 

se pierde en las estrellas, que 

tan solo busca un lugar, 

en donde pueda con toda libertad soñar, 

tan solo soñar....

Study- do as they do…

​Another quick study blocking shadows. I am just repeating what artist Christina Kent does. I think the purpose is to focus more on the contrast between light and shadows, as abstract forms, that suggest the subject; rather then fixating on details, which will allow for more expressive brush strokes, which is my ultimate goal. i just mapped the painting on the canvas, and it was so much easier to draw it, now that i’ve been studying the lights and shadows 

Sueños

​I am with a group of people. We are playing a game, like a scavenger hunt. We each have a paper with the clues. We are going to different houses. There is a clue, very ambiguous, that each interpret in different ways. We were wondering what the correct answer was. I had some sort of epiphany, that the answer was in how we each interpreted the clue. I didn’t know how to communicate this to others. 

I sat in the lobby of one of the houses, to observe everyone arguing about the right answer. The answer was not in what they were saying, but what they were doing and how they were reacting. I was about to solve it, when a music came very loud from inside the house. 

Suddenly, I started walking in, trying to find out where the music came from. 

————— 

In another dream, I am talking to my sister Dana, through a computer. I can see her, but sometimes when she is talking, something changes. I realized she is using some sort of AI technology, to fix or edit what she is saying. I commented this to someone, and that person made a comment about how people aren’t talking to each other anymore, they are all editing and censoring. I tried to explain that we all do this without computer when we talk, That AI is only making this process faster. But editing and censoring ourselves when we speak is something we all already do. Sometimes we are imprudent or say things we later regret. Then we replay it in our minds what we should have said, or shouldn’t have said, and we adjust ourselves for the next time, almost like a robot reprogramming itself. AI is only speeding this process, correcting and fixing it before it even happens. 

I also made a comment that the only way to have a real pure conversation is without words; Using a language that We create right at the moment. Not even AI can’t catch up because the language does not exist. We are all conditioned to think that the only valid way of communicating is with words, yet words are so limited therefore limiting us. Our universe our existence and experience is filled with so many unknowns and complexities there are no words to describe it. 

La Pureza

Caminamos por un bosque , digamos el Golden Gate Park- y casi de inmediato, en el momento en que nos sumergimos bajo los árboles, algo en nosotros se aquieta. Nos sentimos bien. Es una experiencia que todos buscamos: estar entre árboles, frente al mar, escalar montañas. Hay algo ahí que nos atrae profundamente.

Pienso que es porque a la naturaleza no le exigimos nada. No le pedimos orden ni esperamos que se comporte de cierta manera. Puede haber hojas marchitas, árboles secos, terrenos áridos, ríos cubiertos de moho, y aun así no nos perturba. No nos molesta. A la naturaleza la aceptamos tal como es, la dejamos actuar libremente, sin condiciones.

Entre nosotros, los humanos, no ocurre lo mismo. No logramos estar en paz porque vivimos exigiendo, esperando ciertos comportamientos, midiendo constantemente. Hemos aprendido a ver la fealdad en nosotros mismos y en los otros: la vejez se vuelve fea, la imperfección se vuelve motivo de juicio. Todo el tiempo estamos evaluando.

De alguna manera, ya ni siquiera nos miramos con honestidad. Nos volvimos paranoicos: nos escondemos, mentimos, sentimos vergüenza cuando alguna parte de nuestra supuesta fealdad física, la que nos hace inseguros, queda expuesta. Nos arreglamos y nos corregimos para encajar, para mantener una falsa armonía entre nosotros. Es exactamente lo contrario de lo que le concedemos a la naturaleza.

Amamos la naturaleza porque no obedece reglas: es libre, impredecible, espontánea, se multiplica y no se repite. Para nosotros, en cambio, ser puro y libre es una condena. 

otra perspectiva...

Despierta desde las cinco de la mañana para entrar a una clase. A pesar del esfuerzo, me quedé dormida unos treinta minutos…oops!. Terminé a las tres de la tarde: un día larguísimo.

Me tome un break y me fui al hospital de enfrente a caminar, a explorar. Aunque el hospital está justo en frente, cada vez que ando por ahí siento como si estuviera en un lugar lejísimo. 

Las vistas desde ese sitio son increíbles. No voy tan seguido, para no aburrirme. Pero siempre me sorprendo como se ve todo el paisaje desde otra perspectiva. Especialmente en un dia asoleado como hoy. 

Second Study

​blocking the shadows, quick study with a marker.

Un camino de flores…

Trabajando en este collage para Don Ricardo. Le voy a llamar: “Un camino de Flores” basado en el sueño que tuve con el. 

Hoy alguien subió una foto de él, cuando estaba mucho más joven, quizás mi edad. Senti rarísimo referirme a él como “Don”; pero es lo que lo separa del Hijo. Una clara distinción. 

Estoy todavía batallando con el collage, pero creo que ya casi.. ya casi. 

Llegue al estudio, un cielo estrellado hermoso. Me quedé contemplando por un rato. Al salir, una luna súper dorada, súper brillante, llena!! Noche maravillosa! 

quick light and shadow study

quick sketch de sombras para la nueva pintura. Aprender como moverse más rápidamente, concentrarse menos en los detalles y más en la expresión, en el contraste de luz y sombras. 

Wuthering Heights

​A society at the height of its withering. 

Emily Brontë, illustrates an ill society, ill with their aristocracy, obsessed with their rigid social hierarchy. 

They have isolated from the rest, in way to preserve their status as nobles. By doing so, they have trapped themselves in their own prison. Breathing each other’s illness. They are fragile, the kids are weak and sick, and they die fast. 

On the contrary, the servants, the class they treat like animals, becomes robust. Hartenton grows up to be a healthy, vigorous young man. 

Emily, makes a point of using Name and Last Name to remind us of their presumed superiority, while the servants only have a name. 

Emily makes a subtle Christian allusion that was invisible to me until yesterday;

Nelly becomes the mother of Hartenton; later, when he goes to live at WH, Joseph becomes his father. 

Joseph, a clear reference. He is the only devoted christian. He doesn’t teach H how to read or write, as commanded by Heathcliff; but he teaches him his christianity and how to sustain himself, and do things around the house. 

Emily keeps H in the back, we just know that he is ignorant and badly treated. Yet he is the only character in the book that goes through a self-transformation. He carries with the burden of his family, much like a Jesus. In spite of the abuse, He improves himself, learn how to read and write, motivated by the love of Cathy. 

All the others die from their illness; he remains. 

A lot more levels of this novel became visible after discussing the book with some people last night. Very well read academic people. The more I think about it the more I appreciate Wuthering Heights. 

Los del hielo

-es que no puedo ir! - Aracely, en la otra línea con la voz entrecortada. 

-como? te pasó algo? , le preguntó asustada. 

-No, no, es que aquí andan los del ice. Y me da miedo que me cojan por mi niño. 

Los del Ice, los agents del hielo. La enfermedad que Emily señala en su novela. La metafora de que la sociedad, entre mas fría y deshumanizada, mas se vuelven hielo. Frágiles.

En cambio, las sociedades que rechazan, golpean, maltratan, y siguen maltratando, se vuelve cada vez más y más robusta. 

Hay que ponerle atención a las hormigas. Ponerle atención a los más chiquitos. 

Aracely, es una hormiga,  en la metáfora de mi sueño. Una hormiga bajo la amenaza de la gente más grande, los fríos, la gente del hielo.  

El único otro hielo, que está arriba de ellos, es el hielo del cielo.  

Sueños

​I am walking around the house, is dark there are no lights. I see this guy Lalo walking around. I see his tall shadow. At this point is like he is my partner? 

I walked across the kitchen, also in the dark, when I heard someone say hello. In on corner in the darkness, I see Bill Grindell, sitting down. He smiles and says hello! I get surprised, and say hello, he says hello back with his hand. I want to ask what is he doing here, but I can distract myself, I am going to the back of the house, there is something I need to do. 

He understands I am busy, and gestures for me to continue. 

I walk towards the back of the house, and outside there is some sort of room. 

I said sort of, because is not exactly a room. The walls are made of stuff put on top of each other mixed with some cardboard. 

There is a window, I saw a car driving by, I heard a noise. I looked and see that the car just hit a tree. I don’t see the car, just the tree on the floor. I looked through another window, to see if something happened, if someone is injured, but when I looked there are cars, and people acting  like nothing happened, is some sort of school graduation or event. 

I continued doing what I was supposed to do. I started breaking the ceiling of the room, a mix of cardboard with some metal sheets. When suddenly I made a hole, and I pulled my self out. 

Get half of my body out, and realize I am floating in space! There is darkness filled with stars all around me. As if I am in a spaceship. Is so amazingly beautiful, the stars are sparkling different colors. I fall backwards in amazement! I feel this overwhelming sensation in my chest, I bit frightened too. I contemplate for a bit. From below, I hear the voice of someone, having a conversation. Is like a podcast, they are talking about Ants. 

I hear what they are saying and is making a lot of sense, with what is happening to me at the moment. 

I hear something like: “you have to pay attention to the ants, and think like an ant” - As I am listening the sky started to move, or the house, don’t know. Is started to get darker and darker.  

I came back down, slowly. 

Down below, I see S, who had two glasses filled with beer in his hands. 

“Is for you know who!” he says, I understand he means Bill. He is about to go when suddenly he remembered something, and handed me several long and skinny pieces of glass. I said “what is this for?” - “I don’t know, You asked for it” he said. 

I can’t remember why I needed them. I know is related to what I just did or witnessed outside. “I can’t remember. It will comeback to me, let’s leave them here for now” I said. 

Notes for Richmond district series

Just read that the Richmond District was originally a village that belonged to the Ohlone tribe. They were displaced by the Spanish. The spaniards literally told them they couldn’t live where they had always lived, and kicked them out. 

That the Richmond is named after some immigrant Australian rich art dealer, who called his mansion here The Richmond House after his home village in Australia. 

That the legal name of the Richmond was: Park Presidio District but people kept calling it the Richmond, so the name remained and eventually they made the official change to The Richmond District, just a few years ago. 
Also learned that most of the Richmond streets, are named after explorers, mayors, attorneys, basically wealthy white men. Not even Semantically there is a connection the original tribe. They took over the land and by renaming it after themselves, also managed to displace the natives, for our memories. 
Well, there is nothing romantic about The Richmond district, in terms of the history, I will have to sit on this one for a while, and see how this new knowledge might impact the series...
I find it interesting, yesterday, while taking care of the plants in the balcony, I saw a mass of people in bikes, protesting ICE...from time to time, one would yell: Fuck Ice!.... right in front of me! right on the same village that once belonged to the natives, and was displaced by other white man. 
How many of them are aware of this? 
This knowledge I think lives deep in the collective subconscious, like an invisible weight. On the surface, they are fighting the current events (Trump) and an external enemy (the ilegal immigrant); but deep deep down, they are fighting themselves, for something way, way older, that keeps repeating and resurfacing, no matter how much they protest o try to stop it. 
Putting up a sign, yelling “Fuck ICE!”, protesting, then posting it all over social media, making sure the world knows, it relieves some of that weight. 
Wealthy, greedy white men are 'the ice', Trump is the physical manifestation of all of them. They raped the natives of America with their cold capitalist system,  "get rich, then richer"  ejaculating their cold sperm all over the land, out of pure ego, rather than love. They managed to make money and accumulating wealth became the only accepted way of living.  The indigenous way, a connection to the land and the cosmos was dismissed as unnecessary, when, in truth, it is the opposite. This is "THE ICE" that has been falling on America for centuries.