At last I can show you the photographs I submitted to Seattle Erotic Art Festival 2011, because today I received the very sweet rejection letter. It included the classic, “Thank you … ” and “We regret to inform you … ” and then the data about how very many pieces were submitted—1,984 in all (a rather ominous number from certain perspectives).

So, this is great news, that 521 artists submitted their works—and this is only the visual arts category; film, installation, literary, and performance artists will add to that number.

Okay, I don’t have the figures, but having “been around” I would guess that the first SEAF had only 521 guests (if that!). So, 521 artists is a stunning show of support for this Seattle-based festival.

I was a docent last year, studying all the visual art in advance of the festival so that I could be helpful and informative to the guests. So, I’m not really disappointed that none of my work was accepted; I know first-hand that the jury is variable (there were several of their choices last year that confused and disappointed the docents). But hey, I’m not bad-mouthing the jury; I’m just saying that it is what it is. Even the sweet rejection letter says, “… juries are subjective … “

And without further rambling, my works for SEAF 2011.

Open Valve shot at the Chittenden Locks with the Hipstamatic app for iPhone

L.A. a photo taken on the fly in Los Angeles, 2010

Meet Me at the M O T E shot on 5th Avenue, Seattle, Washington

These are not by any means “edgy” images; I don’t believe (as some SEAF participants do) that art must be edgy to be erotic. But I’ll tell you, I’m glad I wasn’t on the jury trying to decide which of the 1,984 images submitted to SEAF are.

I am a quiet girl, prone to moving through life at a turtle’s pace and to doing things at small, detailed levels. I am not one for making big splashes, yet I know I can have profound effects. Nevertheless, when I look back at my life, sometimes I feel like I haven’t done much; the tracks I leave tend to be humble, not monumental, and it can be difficult for me to see that I’ve “made something” of my life.

From where I sit today I know that this past year has been monumental, I can feel it. To give myself a tangible sense of this, I made a list (’cause that’s how I roll).

In the year twenty-ten:

I swam with turtles in the Caribbean and with sturgeon in the Puget Sound. I stood on a cliff and watched a pod of seals frolic. I stood on a riverbank and gazed enraptured while fledgling eagles squealed through their first solo soaring.

I found bald eagle and red-tailed hawk feathers, and marveled at mountain bluebirds and merlins. I lingered with a village of hermit crabs; they were magic and freaky at the same time.

I found a wee, pink orchid on a remote hillside, where pirates had walked centuries before. And at a roadside stand I bought beautiful rattles made from “garbage” by a man with a lovely voice and knowing eyes.

I drove through miles and miles of wheat farms, top down on my yellow car and my farm-girl DNA all a-ga-ga. I rode small ferry boats across a river, a lake, and a sea. I lingered with many a sunrise, sunset, and the Milky Way. I saw shooting stars, and watched fireworks.

I tickled my circus bone, at Teatro ZinZanni, Ricochet, Libertease, Can Can, Columbia City Cabaret, Moisture Festival, Circus Contraption, and twice at Cirque du Soleil’s KOOZA—where the King of Clowns hit me over the noggin with a Porterhouse steak and confetti sailed out of a cannon and into my cleavage.

I became Mayor of Heimlich’s Chew Chew, Hollywood Tower of Terror, and Malo Trading Post.

I learned how to do my make-up as if I were a burlesque performer, and I wore 3D glasses at the midnight opening of Alice in Wonderland.

With the love and kindnesses of friends and family, I survived a divorce (there was a lovely, laughter- and tear-filled party at my new apartment the night-of), and with the brute power of my friends and family, seven months later I packed up all my west-coast belongings and moved 300 miles east.

I built a website for a poet, because I love his voice, and I nudged a shamen through publishing a daring book. I (finally!) opened my Etsy shop—and actually (finally!) sold some of the vintage things I’ve accumulated.

I made new friends, and expanded existing friendships. I could have been a better friend, but I’m pretty sure everyone still loves me nevertheless. And I’m okay with that.

I did not send out my annual Valentine, and I regret that, but February 14 was only a month after my divorce was finalized, so I was not feeling much Cupid in my heart. (I am looking forward to rectifying this in 2011.)

I took good care of my body—celebrating one year of sobriety, losing twenty pounds, and indulging in Pilates. I got pretty descent at feeding myself, even though I abhor doing so.

A priest and I collaborated on a sexy little art project. And in an interesting turn of events, I crafted my first art installation, which hung at a major art festival. There were also many art dates with dear friends and these included glitter, gossip, and giggles.

There was much!!! sand between my toes–from several different beaches–and lingering poolside in Ballard plus skinny dipping in a pool in Los Angeles.

I invented a new sport—the S’mores Off—and I did not win this roasted marshmallow competition, but I launched much laughter and learned ways to refine my roasting technique. PUFFY.

I did many things that were uncomfortable, practicing spontaneity and no-fear; I believe I am better off for doing so.

I have also been dabbling in vulnerability, and I am grateful to know that there are openings in the walls I built around my heart. Not many of them, and not large openings, but after the way I began this year in a complete upheavel of my life, even the wee, smallest openings to my heart are precious.

Thank you all for riding along with me. I really would not have made it without you.