Review of the month!

Ninth Street Women, by Mary Gabriel

I did two things this week. I tried acupuncture, and I finished Ninth Street Women by Mary Gabriel. Both set me up from some transformational feelings. What are transformational feelings? It’s hard to describe. The best I can do right now is to depict it as a simultaneous tightening and releasing, like an opening of the soul that feels wrenched from the closed fists of my body. Does that make sense? Not really, or maybe it does, but yes, it feels like I am at once trying to let go of something(s) while my body is desperately clinging on to it or something else (the past? the safety of non-change? the predictable sameness of myself?). The needles appeared like friends helping my body catch up with itself—aren’t the best friends those who can stop time for you? Giving myself and my body permission to take on this healing has been a work in progress. It is so different to the usual route I take physically, which is to muscle through and force my body into being alright. Suddenly having to be immobile while a stranger poked me with needles somehow created a bridge between me and my body: we were in this strange predicament together, no longer fighting each other for control, we both had to let go and figure out why so much pain existed within our bounds. It is in this spirit of discovery and trust that I finished reading this magnificent book by Mary Gabriel. I am so grateful that I experienced this book at such a formative time in my life, a time when I feel incredible pressure to permanently define the kind of woman I will be. Being on the other side now, I can safely say, for any artists who are struggling with believing in themselves and their creations beyond their monetary value, read this. For any non-artists having a tough go at believing in themselves and carving their life their own way, dive into these stories. For any human who needs a reminder that life is short and should be filled with mistakes, grab a copy and just enjoy getting lost in the worlds of these five women, these five painters who were integral to the Abstract Expressionist art movement in New York City. This biography reads more like the best fiction novel ever written. The only thing that makes it better is that it is all true, and honors the lives of artists that went absolutely all in on living their lives as they saw fit. What I loved the most about these women is that nothing in their lives was perfect. There was rarely a “balance” of goodness that gave them respite. Instead, they lived through waves of personal, professional, health, social and creative bursts, and told the tale of those experiences in the most honest language they knew: painting. Throughout their lives, these individuals continued to remind themselves that their work was not the jobs they did for money, their work was their art. They reminded themselves and each other that their identity was not the poverty that chased them through the city, but their resilience and commitment to being true to what they loved most. The power to decide who we are resides within us, and this power demands our strength to resist the world’s interpretation of ourselves. In a society in which we are to other people how we make our money and how much of it we make, it was entirely refreshing to read about a group of people who believed in their art–i.e. themselves–above all, and whom, without looking back, exchanged acceptance, stability and security (among many other things) for the sanctity of their nature. This book is a map, and a compass. As with the lying face down with needles down my spine, it invited me to slow down and witness the myriad different ways one can experience life on this planet. These women and the cast of beautiful, complicated, messy, hurt, injured, uplifting, loyal, deceptive, etc. companions that made up their lives awaken in the reader not only creative inspiration, but a willingness to shake off a bit of the dust of sameness off your shoulders to find a new light with which to see.

A gift in the form of seven hundred and twenty two pages.