deep down

as I sit here listening to howlin’ wolf

I am reminded of when I fell inlove with mxd

he carried books with him everywhere he went

he checked out a gladys knight boxset from the downtown library

he wore the same 3 t-shirts, a brown one, a deep red and of course classic black

I loved the way he mixed sliced tomatoes, cucumbers & lemon juice with his hands.. i’d never seen anyone sprinkle paprika in salad before

the red rice cooker still lives with us

now we try to eat less and walk more

no more smoking or drinking

its for the best

I was recently teaching a painting workshop in Woodstock ny

a gentleman requested we listen to the blues while working

wild how music makes you want to move your body a certain way

rocking back and forth, tapping ones foot, smiling ear to ear

just as I am typing this our daughter comes in the room while T-Bone Walker is playing

she says, ‘mama, this feels like cowgirl music.’

she shows me her lasso moves

lord have mercy, my hearts in misery, crazy about my baby…. yeah….

tuning in to what’s really swirling around inside of ourselves is big work

the big dig

digging deep or letting it be

depends on the day I suppose

walnuts, cashews, a few raisins sit in a small green ceramic bowl

I tried to play the tuba once, not the best fit

I admire musicians

the way they have committed to playing their instruments

the way it makes their face change with each note

the way it can make you weep with one note

its spiritual

this whole fucking existence

absolutely blows my mind

painting has a hold on me

wont let go

not now

ive come too far to give up now

I feel alright

how are you doing?

today…

what’s swirling around?

What's in your BIO?

My name is Melanie Delgado

I am an abstract oil painter

I live in Glenford NY

Before I painted I drove an ice cream truck

I swept floors

I made slime with glue and liquid starch

I read to groups of children sitting in an irregular circle

We sang songs about the sun and made up holidays

I spent many hours in the principals office

Sometimes they sent me home

I drank and drank and drank 

Until I stopped drinking

Now I paint

In my basement

I can hear my daughter playing upstairs

I can hear my husband playing guitar

These days I have coffee dates with masked friends

We meet on zoom 

We laugh and we cry

Today I paint as often as I can

My mood tells me what moves to make

The furnace kicks up

The maple syrup candle burns

I wonder what time it is

I flip the canvas to get a new view

A Succession of Minor Set Backs...

New titles are circulating in our home

‘A Succession of Minor Set Backs’ seems appropriate for many reasons.

Do they still give kids detention? Make them sit at a desk for hours on end? How about writing their names on the chalkboard, excuse me- dry erase board, smart board… with check marks each time they don’t abide by some bullshit rule?

People keep asking if we will send our daughter to school.

Of course we carry our own experiences and offer our 2 cents when given the chance to describe in great detail the agony of public school.

Although smoking cigarettes in the girls room, boys room or Brandt’s car was a nice break from the forced curriculum. I would never want to go back or subject anyone to that.

There has to be another way.

Sent to the principals office more times than she can count… what good did that ever do?

Humiliation, waste of time, someone else’s problem. That’s what it felt like.

Arrested at the Carnival was a highlight for some. She wore her silver & turquoise pot leaf ring that night & hid her pipe down her pants.

Padded room at the local rehab wasn’t something one shares about on a first date… or interview.

She sure was good at field hockey, though.

The whispers were heard. Some were even told ‘don’t hang around that kid'.

The yearbook even had a category for ‘Teachers Worst Nightmare’.

A fierce desire to prove them all wrong is still deep within her and even some evidence appears.

They were wrong

They were scared too

Let’s do better

please

walking a mile to your house

remember walking to your friends house?

i played streetfighter and ate cheez-its

yes i was high

the clouds were something out of a comic book

music was echoing in a way i hadn’t noticed earlier

left to our own devices we managed to light something on fire

why did that feel so good? oh yeah. i was 14, high in the woods

days with neighborhood friends are heavy on my heart today

was it a song lyric that reminded me of those guys? they wore FUCT tshirts and STUSSY hats

we all smoked cigarettes. eventually anything we could get our hands on

i liked having secrets

i liked listening to Primus and Pink Floyd

it was a unique time in my life, i somehow made it out alive and relatively sane

i stole from almost every store i entered, swedish red fish, lighters, matches were free but certainly not without a dirty look

maybe i figured since my father was injecting his veins with heroin thats what the world had in store for me

probably not the best attitude!

i took my aggression towards everyone out on the field hockey field. i felt so strong, powerful, invincible even

on the weekends we filled those water bottle with any booze we could find, typically some nasty vodka

i always drank fast, hard and as much as i could. it was always gone too fast

off to the next party

flashes of smoky memories are welcomed these days

im done hiding

the only thing i hide now are “santa’s” gifts

Pandemic Paintings

Here we are… how many months now?… home.

Wondering what will happen next.

Waiting for some better news.

The latest series of paintings started in January.

Scribbles first.. then wide strokes of oil paint on canvas.

Six new paintings are going up on the WALLS of Green Kill in Kingston, NY.

I paint in our basement. its taken me a long time to believe that I can paint. That it does matter.

Art helps us all see and feel things differently.

I certainly feel different when I dig in and let go of any idea of what the painting is ‘suppose’ to be.

it is.

it just is

its a painting.

We are still home. Grocery store list near the kitchen door.

Mass grave of gloves, masks, and hand sanitizer.

Tomatoes are green… growing. We asked the wasps to leave. The downpour of summer rain took care of one nest. Little did we know about the one IN THE GROUND.

Ask Marc and Mary about what happened next. Damn yellow jackets!

We adore how she says “last day”. Last Day is any day that is not today.

Today we will walk in the woods.

First we must finish the blue tape table installation.

Red cigarette pouch

We are locked inside the house

its been weeks

ive stopped looking at the calendar

we are drawing with colored pencils

dancing to REM.
new neighbors left a card in the mailbox

six new paintings are in the studio

Projects still in motion

washing lots of items

crunchy snow at the end of driveway

another trap

i like listening to Bill Frisell

my paternal grandmother liked this song….I Heard it Through the Grapevine

she had a hard thumbnail & smoked Long cigarettes from a soft red pouch

i remember what it smelled like before it was lit.. the loose flakey tobacco

I don’t smoke anymore

there are a lot of things I don’t do anymore

some habits are still with me like ghosts

not like the ones my daughter pretends to be.. the other kind, the ones that can make an ordinary moment feel like fire is swirling in my chest

takes a few minutes or a few days to shake it

I’ve always tried to make those feelings go away

I barely graduated high school. I was busy smoking in the girls room. I even have the letter from Mr. Hino to be reminded

its tucked away with those field hockey awards

it all gets tucked away

in a bottle

That’s filled with soot

today the sun came out

Broom Handles & Ziploc Bags

The NYC marathon was happening while we debated where to meet.

Banksy didn’t open the doors…

High Line was busy as expected.

We drank coffee while catching up on the regular topics: family, husband, children.
Once our feet hit the pavement we dug in a little deeper. What’s really going on? But first she’ll need a scarf. It’s windy.
It’s New York City in November for crying out loud.

It didn’t take long to remember how deeply I love this woman. I’m tearing up as I type this.

The old buildings remind me of my first pair of doc martins. They were green. A real love affair… maybe my first.

I realize while looking & feeling fabric I like Japanese designs!

She found a scarf. It felt soft & a little familiar.

We wept together…. right there in front of a Bellows painting near the elevator.
I always love being near her.