Why is it that whenever I sit in front of the damn computer I space out?!? All I want to do is write down my freaking statement. Take a stand. Let the world know what I'm all about. Could it be that all I'm about is blankly staring at the screen of this damn computer?
No. I don't accept that. What am I about? What is my statement?
Well, first of all, I don't have a statement. I'm a real person who goes to work and lives her life. I daydream about making a difference, and hope that I am already, at least to someone if not to everyone...yet.
I'm a girl and a woman. And why not? Why can't we want to be pretty and have pretty things and also be smart and funny and vulgar and intelligent?
Maybe that's my statement...My name is Lily and I am a woman, and everything that encompasses.
My mother; my grandmother; my husband; our love; art of everything medium, genre and time (except video art-I'm sorry, I just don't like it); children; animals; Latin America, especially Peru; turquoise and olive; rose and deep bronzy gold; making jewelry; daydreaming about a jewelry business or starting my own non-profit to bring art to kids in south LA; The Lakers (as I curse them while praying for their ultimate success); giggling with my girl-friends; Miss Ava; The Big Lebowski (I am the Walrus, I am the Walrus); Chinatown; anything Old Hollywood; nothing New Hollywood; real, honest to God Angelenos; my Dad, his genious, his art and how it constantly blows my mind; dancing in my livingroom to Madonna; Santa Monica and Venice (my home).
Have you seen The Big Lebowski? (yes, I'm obsessed with this movie, I am a part of this cult, I admit with pride) You know the part where he first meets Maude Lebowski in her Downtown LA studio loft? He gets off the freight elevator and walks down a dark hall into a large expanse of a room that is filled with...crap, basically crap. But hey, one man's crap is another man's art medium (as my father always told me).
This was my childhood as the daughter of an LA artist growing up in the 80's. I spent my weekends going to endless studios and gallery openings. I hung out in Burden's army tent and played with the many little toys and figures he had collected, not realizing their ultimate importance in his work. To this day I still harbor the same feelings about gallery openings that I did at 6; there's no where to sit, nothing good to drink or eat and I can't see the art...can we come back tomorrow? Please!! This is killing me! I've had endless discussions about why she did that way or what was his intention with my father. Yet, I can't draw to save my own damn life!
My mom made me love basketball! As a child we would go to the Lakers games every week, so much so that I hated it (too bad, right?!?) My mom has always had her foot inthe sportsworld and it has been the most amazing ride! Playing on the court between events at the 84 Olympics, hanging with the Globetrotters during trainingcamp, talking to Magic at the Loyola Summer League games. My parents really gave me a first hand look into two special worlds and I love then dearly for that!
I may not be able to draw but I LOVE to take pictures and may have become an artist myself had I not lived the artist's life as a child...not that it was bad...don't get me wrong, I loved it, it was amazing and unique. But I knew about the struggle and the odd jobs and having to really sell youself and the work you created before I ever went to school. And, deep down I knew it wasn't for me. But art needs an audience and that's where I found my nitch.