Letters from the Inside, Sarah Pender, #39

[Two letters in one envelope came today along with a drawing of me from Sarah taped to the back of a cool postcard and a big painting inspired by my "Down There" entry about how I see depression as a place. Scans will follow.]

Dear Kelly,

I just heard the last ten minutes of "The Moth STory Hour" on our Public radio station here. I didn't know that they had a weekly series. I wonder if it is only on once per week or has multiple airings? They had some nameless woman on there who went to a Story Slam for the first time, got her name picked, and won first place. I immediately thought of you. She even used the word "neuroses". But they didn't air her story. Instead they aired James Brawley, who got the TV show, and book deal out of his start at the Moth. I look forward to it next week.

There's also a story out of New York about excavators finding a 300 year old ship wonderfully preserved in mud. That story is supposed to be be covered later--one sidebar being the oldest drinkable bottle of champagne. I wonder if they are connected. I can't imagine how much that would fetch.

I was inspired by your creation of "Down There" and sketched a painting. I've been working on it for over a week since I only get a couple hours each week to paint. I hope to finish it early this week, and include it with this letter. I took some of what you said about it and added some things. It rains all the time and you never have an umbrella. No matter how perfect your makeup, it turns to 1970s electric blue eyeshadow and stripper magenta lipstick. And it's physically impossible to smile. It's like gravity on Jupiter affecting only your lips. But you can't even worry about how it makes you look, because everyone is a progeny of Edvard Munch. The decor, is, well, you see. Your Long Island comes with a dead fly. Coffee comes in chipped china. There's the lime jello--with a fork. [Ed: All tasting like tuna.] They display bad art. All lighting is incandescent and yellowed, and ceiling fans perpetually turn, leaving you with permanent THO's. And although you can see your friend Chiz, you can never been in the same room together. Even if you try and talk through the window, you have to sit in chairs that are too small for your ass and are shaped so your legs dangle awkwardly. Hunched and dangling, wet and hungry, cold and SAD. "Down there with the Sadz," by Sarah Pender.



--Monday--

I finished up the painting this morning. The paper I have is actually sketch pad paper, so it absorbs the watercolors weirdly, but I have to be happy that I can paint at all. I added that Down there your clothes never match, your legs swell, and you must wear mittens because your fingers don't separate. Your shoes are two different sizes and two different heel heights. You wanna be sad? There's a place for you!

Hope you enjoy it, and unlike Down There, up here you can smile. :-)

Peace,

Sarah

***

Kelly,

It's Saturday--I spent most of the day listening to qualifications, practice, and commentary on the NASCAR race here tomorrow, the Brickyard 400. When I'm listening to sports stuff, I can't concentrate to write, so I like to doodle, color, etc. Yesterday I tried sketching out a friend's photo and I foundthat I did well at detail but not form, and shadow or shading was so-so. To work on my face sketching skills, I took a couple of photos of facial close-ups, traced out main lines, then worked on shading shape, and details of face features, like lips and eyes, two of the hardest features to capture. I used a photo you sent me of your Alaskan cruise as one of my samples. I have enclosed it. I taped it to a card front. My father sends me these neat cards that are encouraging messages from The Universe.






Oh God, Madonna is on the radio. I remember dancing to this when I was like seven or eight, when teased bangs, legwarmers, and big lacy hair bows were in style. Apparently so were mullets because I got one when I was seven. My mother left my father 18 mos prior, leaving my Dad to raise two girls under ten years old. That's how I ended up with a parent that allowed me to get a mullet. I must have seen a magazine photo of Bon Jovi or Corey Haim. :-)

I am finishing a book by Elizabeth Girlbert, Eat, Pray, Love: One Woman's Search for Everything Across Italy, India, and Indonesia.

My favorite character in her memoir is Richard from Texas, who called her "Groceries" because of her voracious appetite at meals and is quoted as observing: "Man, they got mosquitoes 'round this place big enough to rape a chicken." How can you not love a man containing such wisdom?

I hope you are feeling better and conquering either the boyfriend or the job. Isn't a law of the Big Three that at least two of them are supposed to work, you just can't get all three? Any good blogs lately? Think anymore on writing a memoir? How long will you work a job that doesn't make you happy?

Take care,

Sarah