The Time I Punched an Angel

An Angel for an Irish Girl. 18 x 24″. Mixed media on canvas. By Cat Jones.

By Cat Jones

I punched an angel once.

It was right after Sid died, and I was out of my mind with grief. And one manifestation of that grief was winding up in Mexico with a bunch of weed and a coconut full of rum in the middle of a drug war… That’s its own story, which I will tell another time.

Detail from gaslit.

But this happened on the way back from there, back up to Cascadia, the place I’d called home before the world ended. I’d been sleeping on lonely Mexican beaches for something like 9 days before I got sucked accidentally back across the US border for no reason I could name. My hair was dreading up and had leaves stuck in it. I was still wearing the same clothes I’d been wearing since Sid’s service, which had been the night before I left for Mexico. I was as scary and dreadful as I was broken. Continue reading

Lark Street

Lark Street.
24 x 24.
By Cat Jones

Although I’ve moved to a castle in another New York city now, I used to live on Lark Street. I had the coolest stoop in the city there, and many  great adventures. I had a sunny window seat, and a great place to paint. It was a good place to start to heal from a lot of things that needed healing. A very good place to be an artist, even if not much of a place to sell art. (Ah, capitalism. It does not mix well with anything, especially not love or art. So it was perpetually hard to make the rent there, but perpetually easy to paint.) I used to fall asleep at night listening to the lull of pedestrians and the whispering traffic snaking through the city beneath my window. Continue reading