tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1433439669246073492024-02-19T06:17:10.346-05:00Things That Can FlyDiscoveries, Projects, and Heartfelt RecommendationsAnnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16755314154360328605noreply@blogger.comBlogger296125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-143343966924607349.post-1757837755433260312016-11-04T08:00:00.000-04:002016-11-04T08:00:06.859-04:00Culture Diaries: 11/4/16<div>
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A quick roundup of some other things I've been into lately: <div>
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- John Berger's seminal series about art and perception <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0pDE4VX_9Kk" target="_blank"> </a><b><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0pDE4VX_9Kk" target="_blank">Ways of Seeing</a> </b>all on Youtube. </div>
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- Finally got around to seeing <b><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sWQTfbXLTHQ" target="_blank">Son of Saul</a> </b>(last year's Oscar winner for best foreign film). Sharp focus is on a surprisingly intimate human story with the mass-scale atrocities of the holocaust happening in the periphery. Impressive. </div>
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- Recently finished Booker Prize finalist <b><a href="http://themanbookerprize.com/books/his-bloody-project-by-graeme-macrae-burnet" target="_blank">His Bloody Project</a></b>, about a triple-homicide in the Scottish highlands in the 19th century but pieced together and presented through in nearly journalistic fashion. </div>
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- Sculptor Richard Wentworth's<a href="https://www.theguardian.com/artanddesign/2013/jun/11/richard-wentworth-sculptor-portrait-artist" target="_blank"> words</a></div>
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Annhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16755314154360328605noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-143343966924607349.post-38549021252439041382016-11-03T12:22:00.001-04:002016-11-03T12:22:24.956-04:00Cannery Row : Steinbeck<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZrTYzbHvv5NJRxvV-p2HYp_1MaS9eLLLIr6rh4H04KprT_DQ2eC7sf6GBiTf1UMr3QyuWpEWQuG5DdbynefdgcPoK4y_vuE0VdJCVTauvTFGfvQWtMPotqQnSSgiF84KyTJlbHTRzXw3U/s1600/IMG_5662.JPG" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZrTYzbHvv5NJRxvV-p2HYp_1MaS9eLLLIr6rh4H04KprT_DQ2eC7sf6GBiTf1UMr3QyuWpEWQuG5DdbynefdgcPoK4y_vuE0VdJCVTauvTFGfvQWtMPotqQnSSgiF84KyTJlbHTRzXw3U/s640/IMG_5662.JPG" width="480" /></a><br />
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Ah, the 'casual' trip to the bookstore. The sort where you promise to yourself before making that spontaneous sharp turn inside that this time, you're not there to buy another book. That this time, you'll only browse, see what's new.<br />
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What sabotages that plan immediately? When you pick up an unassuming Steinbeck novel and flip to the first page to read the opening. </div>
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The first time this happened to me, it was Steinbeck's<b> Tortilla Flat.</b></div>
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<i>This is the story of Danny and of Danny’s friends and of Danny’s house. It is a story of how these three became one thing, so that in Tortilla Flat if you speak of Danny’s house you do not mean a structure of wood flaked with old whitewash, overgrown with an ancient untrimmed rose of Castile. No, when you speak of Danny’s house you are understood to mean a unit of which the parts are men, from which came sweetness and joy, philanthropy and, in the end, a mystic sorrow.</i></blockquote>
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I resisted. I went home. But these first lines continued to haunt and bother me to the point where I had to make my way to a bookstore immediately the next day to see what followed. </div>
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It happened again recently - this time, with <b>Cannery Row.</b></div>
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<i>Cannery Row in Monterey in California is a poem, a stink, a grating noise, a quality of light, a tone, a habit, a nostalgia, a dream. Cannery Row is the gathered and scattered, tin and iron and rust and splintered wood, chipped pavement and weedy lots and junk heaps, sardine canneries of corrugated iron, honky tonks, restaurants and whore houses, and little crowded groceries, and laboratories and flophouses. Its inhabitant are, as the man once said, “whores, pimps, gambler and sons of bitches,” by which he meant Everybody. Had the man looked through another peephole he might have said, “Saints and angels and martyrs and holymen” and he would have meant the same thing.</i></blockquote>
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I knew better than to resist this one. I bought this one immediately.<br />
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Magic. <br />
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Annhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16755314154360328605noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-143343966924607349.post-12702700438190299712016-10-07T08:00:00.000-04:002016-10-07T08:00:22.834-04:00Fantastic Negrito: An Honest Man<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="360" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/PH-G8vBpG9o" width="640"></iframe>Annhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16755314154360328605noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-143343966924607349.post-17106246452926182372016-10-06T08:00:00.000-04:002016-10-06T08:00:00.876-04:00YiYi: A One and a TwoI recently watched a Taiwanese film made in 2000 called YiYi: A One and a Two – Edward Yang's last film before he died of cancer at 59. (I am now in the process of hunting down his other films.)<br />
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This is one of those movies that's about life and also, everything. It's small and therefore big. A real gem.<br />
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Here's the trailer below.</div>
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Annhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16755314154360328605noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-143343966924607349.post-8940577198476070752016-10-05T08:00:00.000-04:002016-10-05T08:00:13.595-04:00The Threepenny Opera: Tango Ballad<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "roboto" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">Kurt Weill (Music)</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "roboto" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">Bertolt Brecht (Lyrics)</span>Annhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16755314154360328605noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-143343966924607349.post-10063800367218597632016-10-04T08:00:00.000-04:002016-10-04T08:00:06.411-04:00Minor White: HandsI came across the work of Minor White (what a name), a photographer who worked mostly in the 1940s - 1960s. His work capturing the natural world are striking and worth a look, but I find these shots he took of hands beautiful and interesting.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcZhlt-d9UxFGpmbRvq_AFgpyQhzs9rDuTal_9BgEqNgtxMWnndxb6eD0C2HvptKEsBMCUT37zwETjpSy0n0UxfgizWXJNvtDGTajs3XQ_H962tiBu1WtVPl-GEyqZ85WyjUIK8mNZLbRF/s1600/96fb9db35207a55aa8608b89a8b68e2b.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcZhlt-d9UxFGpmbRvq_AFgpyQhzs9rDuTal_9BgEqNgtxMWnndxb6eD0C2HvptKEsBMCUT37zwETjpSy0n0UxfgizWXJNvtDGTajs3XQ_H962tiBu1WtVPl-GEyqZ85WyjUIK8mNZLbRF/s400/96fb9db35207a55aa8608b89a8b68e2b.jpg" width="352" /></a>Annhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16755314154360328605noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-143343966924607349.post-79837875363799552792016-10-03T10:23:00.001-04:002016-10-03T10:39:32.061-04:00But Beautiful: Geoff Dyer<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYRLfvAf6Z2FQtUCbQT-Qloy6rOMEAFsIWEKzydzH4mJ3MGfC5TZeFovhfCJYi3_YCu9FGDvn8c4fKx1W_R_24XhiRzqdZudLsPqRJ6Ho24HmwFojtHKOS5ueHtXz5FqBZz9jsI9vMtymG/s1600/unnamed.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYRLfvAf6Z2FQtUCbQT-Qloy6rOMEAFsIWEKzydzH4mJ3MGfC5TZeFovhfCJYi3_YCu9FGDvn8c4fKx1W_R_24XhiRzqdZudLsPqRJ6Ho24HmwFojtHKOS5ueHtXz5FqBZz9jsI9vMtymG/s400/unnamed.jpg" width="350" /></a><br />
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I fell in love with Geoff Dyer's writing recently, reading his book about jazz <i>But Beautiful,</i> a series of fictionalized vignettes about some of jazz's tragic heroes. I've underlined a good majority of this book - it is so sensitively written and so very beautiful.<br />
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One of my favorite passages about Chet Baker:<br />
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<i>Chet put nothing of himself into his music and that's what lent his playing its pathos. The music he played felt abandoned by him. He played the old ballads and standards with a long series of caresses that led nowhere and subsided into nothing. </i><br />
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<i>That was how he had always played and always would. Every time he played a note he waved it goodbye. Sometimes he didn't even wave. These old songs, they were used to being loved and wanted by the people who played them; musicians hugged them and made them feel brand-new, fresh. Chet left a song feeling bereft. When he played it the song needed comforting: it wasn't his playing that was packed with feeing, it was the song itself, feeling hurt. You felt each note trying to stay with him a little longer, pleading with him. </i><br />
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<br />Annhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16755314154360328605noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-143343966924607349.post-81989992365546541562016-09-30T08:00:00.000-04:002016-09-30T08:00:09.516-04:00 Skye, Scotland: Moving bus, Storm Some images shot inside a moving bus of a glorious part of Scotland called the Isle of Skye. <div>
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Skye reminded of the land where Heathcliff must have been born. There is a wildness there that is capable of swallowing you whole. And the wind bangs against the windowpanes, your body. Wuthering.</div>
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Annhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16755314154360328605noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-143343966924607349.post-56284318699983392132016-09-29T08:00:00.000-04:002016-09-29T08:00:03.057-04:00Cornelia Parker: PsychoBarnCan't wait to see the Cornelia Parker's Psychobarn, which is now on the roof of the Met.<br />
Parker built the frame of a house that is: homage to the wholesome American icon of the red barn + nod to the twisted Bates house in Psycho / Hopper's House by the Railroad.<br />
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Cornelia Parker's Transitional Object (Psychobarn)<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLBwtYhSTuj5rOvggVsG3eddri8K2pp1uJZxheN9NqBbP4RHTQkEYXnSXYIrw78BZK-Ul1DXLdn8-E-SClBj66cQzIo76_YvqRk4k1vGiaqT1XbWbWc-H1QSp4wK2yjapISHaoij_8_hcB/s1600/house-by-the-railroad.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="536" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLBwtYhSTuj5rOvggVsG3eddri8K2pp1uJZxheN9NqBbP4RHTQkEYXnSXYIrw78BZK-Ul1DXLdn8-E-SClBj66cQzIo76_YvqRk4k1vGiaqT1XbWbWc-H1QSp4wK2yjapISHaoij_8_hcB/s640/house-by-the-railroad.jpg" width="640" /></a><br />
Hopper's House by the Railroad, 1925<br />
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Bates' House, Hitchcock's Psycho, 1960<br />
<br />Annhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16755314154360328605noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-143343966924607349.post-21181630435180465912016-09-28T08:00:00.000-04:002016-09-28T08:00:20.029-04:00Francis Alys: Fabiola <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1Alw6TAk-SRNyNwZIw7VY5DR1vP5jANErxbgG8BbnH4QxTwAdkqxaiFSvElrfbFl0lwCRzw-lta0VWlsAzWYGOtJdnRWWuOVo-IejL3E29CYYyuPjv5xDmSVKheGtDcnJpm1l2Ktr9QZ7/s1600/fabiola-06.jpg" imageanchor="1"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3XRxKdo9GMuyBxDWfmllkRjcnMdyFThVV98RRxGzMT4AJiUzuszn18D2EeoBwLvKdHhqmMkrHpJ-EXi0jW_A-Yhw1eVVSwaLFHuGz49-7s6tsuliW4vhrWn6eFpWPJNtDHtsz1CN0Qsdc/s1600/p1490981MD.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="472" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3XRxKdo9GMuyBxDWfmllkRjcnMdyFThVV98RRxGzMT4AJiUzuszn18D2EeoBwLvKdHhqmMkrHpJ-EXi0jW_A-Yhw1eVVSwaLFHuGz49-7s6tsuliW4vhrWn6eFpWPJNtDHtsz1CN0Qsdc/s640/p1490981MD.jpg" width="640" /></a><br />
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"Created by the internationally acclaimed artist Francis Alÿs, Fabiola is an installation of over 300 portraits of a fourth-century Christian saint collected by the artist from flea markets and antique shops throughout Europe and the Americas. These seemingly identical portraits, including paintings, embroideries and miniatures are all copies of a lost original of Fabiola by the French nineteenth-century painter, Jean-Jacques Henner." (from: <a href="http://www.npg.org.uk/about/press/francis-alys-fabiola1.php" target="_blank">The National Portrait Gallery</a>)<br />
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<br />Annhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16755314154360328605noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-143343966924607349.post-88536906187237301082016-09-27T08:30:00.000-04:002016-10-03T10:28:31.112-04:00Don't Fence Me In<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
I want to ride to the ridge where the West commences<br />
Gaze at the moon till I lose my senses<br />
And I can't look at hobbles and I can't stand fences<br />
Don't fence me in<br />
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Cole Porter, 1934Annhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16755314154360328605noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-143343966924607349.post-48784517204398299502016-09-26T08:30:00.000-04:002016-09-26T08:30:16.826-04:00The Black Between the FramesLoved this e-mail that Natalie Portman sent to Jonathan Safran Foer.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg77yCR2MoajI-JZazQC_a2n63F-mFY0OZmJJ53Huqqa9ZZAxSVPTpQp0gZyJRlYEgNSFK17I37TpeFv4MtDxd8PCVtzXfQaTzl8DvvwJkmDc01Yt-7lM8Htu_ZBC86-AkklZL31cSJ-mZQ/s1600/Screen+Shot+2016-09-25+at+13.20.07.png" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="275" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg77yCR2MoajI-JZazQC_a2n63F-mFY0OZmJJ53Huqqa9ZZAxSVPTpQp0gZyJRlYEgNSFK17I37TpeFv4MtDxd8PCVtzXfQaTzl8DvvwJkmDc01Yt-7lM8Htu_ZBC86-AkklZL31cSJ-mZQ/s400/Screen+Shot+2016-09-25+at+13.20.07.png" width="400" /></a><br />
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From <a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2016/07/14/t-magazine/natalie-portman-jonathan-safran-foer-emails.html?_r=0" target="_blank">this </a>Times Magazine piece.<br />
<br />Annhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16755314154360328605noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-143343966924607349.post-12423986606607958872016-09-25T13:18:00.002-04:002016-09-25T13:18:42.515-04:00James Nasmyth, the Man Obsessed with the Moon<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAe7WlDxtEg5k2KuJI8Ve6JZ6qTdqD2ipsNrpc7-sOOnhO5kVWXYvpGS2z7ljlwDYwiDKXBbulPfqf0f2VdekwkVSIJ5HkxH62JieEJNtVjoEUBhNRqw4C5D0TnHnmNApls0ZZjNdpfRXs/s1600/Nasmyth_Hand-Apple-1875.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="537" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAe7WlDxtEg5k2KuJI8Ve6JZ6qTdqD2ipsNrpc7-sOOnhO5kVWXYvpGS2z7ljlwDYwiDKXBbulPfqf0f2VdekwkVSIJ5HkxH62JieEJNtVjoEUBhNRqw4C5D0TnHnmNApls0ZZjNdpfRXs/s640/Nasmyth_Hand-Apple-1875.jpg" width="640" /></a><br />
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<br />
"In his book, 'The Moon: Considered as a Planet, a World, and a Satellite', he was hoping to demonstrate that the surface of the moon had formed as its molten body shrank and gradually cooled and shrivelled, just the way human skin wrinkles with age."<br />
<br />
"...the shrunken hand on the other side is that of Mr. Nasmyth, photographed by himself. It exhibits a thoroughly mechanical hand, as well as the hand of a delicate manipulator illustrating that remarkable expression in the book of Job that 'in the hand of all the sons of men God places marks, that all the sons of men may know their own works'.<br />
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<br />Annhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16755314154360328605noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-143343966924607349.post-21771841663247220342016-08-01T09:00:00.000-04:002016-08-01T16:39:51.392-04:00Mary Heilmann: Looking at Pictures <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I went to see the Mary Heilmann exhibition at the Whitechapel Gallery today. I loved the vibrant, playful colors, a sense of a certain measured carefree quality in her work.<br />
I liked this quote from the Guardian's <a href="https://www.theguardian.com/artanddesign/2016/jun/10/mary-heilmann-looking-at-pictures-whitechapel-gallery-london-review-abstract-art" target="_blank">review</a> of the exhibit:<br />
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<blockquote class="tr_bq">
"Paint drips accidentally, like when you get a bit of sauce on your nice clean shirt when you’re enjoying a meal too much. Entire paintings go over the edge and round the sides of the canvas stretcher, like those cartoon characters who run over a cliff and don’t fall until they recognise the drop below. It is good to sidle up to Heilmann’s paintings, to see what’s going on around the side, as much as it is to confront them head on....<br />Heilmann’s paintings aren’t the best in the world, but they don’t need to be. To me, they seem to contain a lot of happiness and pleasure in the act of looking. The human details and imperfections count. A hand and an all-too-human brain made them."</blockquote>
<span id="goog_399210507"></span><span id="goog_399210508"></span><br />Annhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16755314154360328605noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-143343966924607349.post-27768921469066451132016-04-10T08:32:00.000-04:002016-04-10T08:32:00.568-04:00On Starting Over<div>
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A lot can happen in two years.<br />
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At the age of 30, I'm starting from scratch.<br />
A few weeks ago, I quit my job, moved out of my apartment in New York City, and packed up a suitcase and moved to London, a city that had always loomed large and beautiful in my mind. A place I'd often thought, dreamed, talked about. And now I'm here.<br />
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It is at once surreal and challenging. Surreal because it's still sinking in, and at first, I found myself gliding on the surface of the moment vs. actually being in the moment. (Sometimes, your brain needs to catch up to your actions, though of late, I quite prefer this than the other way around - I tend to overthink things.) And challenging because it's quite lonely to be on one's own and not have any choice in the matter. </div>
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A few nights ago, I fell asleep <a href="http://www.onbeing.org/program/david-whyte-the-conversational-nature-of-reality/8560" target="_blank">listening to British / Irish philosopher-poet David Whyte</a> wax poetic about the need for solitude but also the need to belong. I woke up remembering lines wondering if I'd dreamed them. It was a nice to wake up that way. </div>
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<i>Sometimes it takes darkness and the sweet</i></div>
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<i>confinement of your aloneness</i></div>
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<i>to learn</i></div>
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<i><br /></i></div>
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<i>anything or anyone</i></div>
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<i>that does not bring you alive</i></div>
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<i><br /></i></div>
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<i>is too small for you.</i></div>
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<i>From "Sweet Darkness" - David White</i><br />
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I found these lines comforting because they're true, which means my decision must have been the right one...that my other life was too small for me and I needed to ask more of the world.<br />
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But these are also lines that hover, because I want to continue to live up to them.<br />
Why is this harder than it should be?<br />
<br />
Because "alive" doesn't mean comfort, routine, familiarity. Because "alive" could also mean discomfort, vulnerability, and fear.<br />
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It takes a brave soul to dive headfirst into it anyway. </div>
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Annhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16755314154360328605noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-143343966924607349.post-5530094346623668082014-06-01T22:26:00.001-04:002014-06-01T22:26:44.696-04:00Live Anyway. <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />Annhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16755314154360328605noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-143343966924607349.post-35987845742407691512013-11-07T08:00:00.000-05:002013-11-07T08:00:03.714-05:00Cute. From Wes Anderson<br />
<object height="360" width="640"><param name="movie" value="//www.youtube.com/v/OnsXlxYiH6c?hl=en_US&version=3"></param>
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<embed src="//www.youtube.com/v/OnsXlxYiH6c?hl=en_US&version=3" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" width="640" height="360" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true"></embed></object>Annhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16755314154360328605noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-143343966924607349.post-46656920387915588072013-11-06T08:00:00.000-05:002013-11-06T08:00:11.428-05:00The Feel of a PlaceLove these architectural sketches by sunga park:<br />
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<br />
more <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/parksunga/sets/72157631394994726/" target="_blank">here</a>.<br />
<br />
(<a href="http://www.notcot.org/page/1225/" target="_blank">via</a>) <br />
<br />Annhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16755314154360328605noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-143343966924607349.post-88735017647360692862013-11-05T08:00:00.000-05:002013-11-05T08:00:07.207-05:00Lately...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
+ Saw<a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2013/10/26/arts/dance/matthew-bournes-sleeping-beauty-at-city-center.html" target="_blank"> this production </a>of Sleeping Beauty that I really, really loved. <br />
+ Bread: <a href="http://www.newyorker.com/online/blogs/culture/2013/11/video-chad-robertson-tartine-bread-making.html" target="_blank">here</a> and<a href="http://www.newyorker.com/reporting/2013/11/04/131104fa_fact_gopnik" target="_blank"> here</a>. <br />
+ Did you catch the Youtube Music Awards? It was directed by Spike Jonze and it was really messy but I really liked the makeshift creativity of it (music videos, short films were shot on the spot, live etc.)<br />
+ I've been reading more of Charles Simic's poetry and I really like it. Much to learn!<br />
+ I thought Kate Bosworth's <a href="http://video.vogue.com/watch/vogue-weddings-kate-bosworth-sees-her-oscar-de-la-renta-wedding-dress-for-the-very-first-time" target="_blank">wedding dress </a>was really beautiful. <br />
+ <span class="st"><em>"Now that you don't have</em> to be <em>perfect</em>, <em>you can be good." </em>I think I'm really starting to understand this.</span><br />
<br />
<br />Annhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16755314154360328605noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-143343966924607349.post-58593662199236002102013-11-04T08:00:00.000-05:002013-11-04T08:00:12.545-05:00The ProdigalDark morning rain<br />
Meant to fall<br />
On a prison and a schoolyard,<br />
Falling meanwhile<br />
On my mother and her old dog.<br />
<br />
How slow she shuffles now<br />
In my father's Sunday shoes. <br />
the dog by her side<br />
Trembling with each step<br />
As he tries to keep up. <br />
<br />
I am on another corner waiting<br />
With my head shaved.<br />
My mind hops like a sparrow<br />
In the rain.<br />
I'm always watching and worrying about her.<br />
<br />
Everything is a magic ritual,<br />
A secret cinema,<br />
The way she appears in a window hours later<br />
To set the empty bowl<br />
And spoon on the table,<br />
And then exits<br />
So that the day may pass,<br />
And the night may fall<br />
Into the empty bowl,<br />
Empty room, empty house,<br />
While the rain keeps<br />
Knocking at the front door.<br />
<br />
Charles Simic Annhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16755314154360328605noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-143343966924607349.post-89693198435550735572013-11-01T08:08:00.000-04:002013-11-01T08:08:51.105-04:00I can't stop thinking about it<br />
<br />
The Parrot Fish<br />
<br />
The shadow of the little fishing launch<br />
Discreetly, inch by inch,<br />
Crept after us on its belly over<br />
The reef's uneven floor. <br />
<br />
The motor gasped our drowsy vapor.<br />
Seconds went by before<br />
Anyone thought to interpret<br />
The jingling of Inez's bracelet.<br />
<br />
Chalk-violet, olive, all veils and sequins, a<br />
Priestess out of the next Old Testament extravaganza,<br />
With round gold eyes and miniscule buckteeth,<br />
Up flaunted into death<br />
<br />
The parrot fish. And for a full hour beat<br />
Irregular, passionate<br />
Tattoos from its casket lined with zinc.<br />
Finally we understood, I think.<br />
<br />
Ashore, the warm waves licked our feet.<br />
One or two heavy chords the heat<br />
Struck, set the white beach vibrating<br />
And throwing back its head the sea began to sing.<br />
<br />
<br />
James Merrill<br />
<br />Annhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16755314154360328605noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-143343966924607349.post-79417570420680809302013-10-21T08:00:00.001-04:002013-10-21T08:00:17.908-04:00Why I Am Not A PainterI am not a painter, I am a poet.<br />
Why? I think I would rather be<br />
a painter, but I am not. Well,<br />
for instance, Mike Goldberg<br />
is starting a painting. I drop in.<br />
"Sit down and have a drink" he<br />
says. I drink; we drink. I look<br />
up. "You have SARDINES in it."<br />
"Yes, it needed something there."<br />
"Oh." I go and the days go by<br />
and I drop in again. The painting<br />
is going on, and I go, and the days<br />
go by. I drop in. The painting is <br />
finished. "Where's SARDINES?"<br />
All that's left is just<br />
letters, "It was too much," Mike says.<br />
<div id="yui_3_10_1_1_1382325643038_862">
But me? One day I am thinking of<br />
a color: orange. I write a line<br />
about orange. Pretty soon it is a <br />
whole page of words, not lines.<br />
Then another page. There should be<br />
so much more, not of orange, of<br />
words, of how terrible orange is<br />
and life. Days go by. It is even in<br />
prose, I am a real poet. My poem<br />
is finished and I haven't mentioned<br />
orange yet. It's twelve poems, I call<br />
it ORANGES. And one day in a gallery<br />
I see Mike's painting, called SARDINES.</div>
<div id="yui_3_10_1_1_1382325643038_862">
<br /></div>
<div id="yui_3_10_1_1_1382325643038_862">
Frank O'Hara </div>
<div id="yui_3_10_1_1_1382325643038_862">
<br /></div>
<div id="yui_3_10_1_1_1382325643038_862">
How great is that line "There should be / so much more / not of orange, of / words, of how terrible orange is / and life."</div>
Annhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16755314154360328605noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-143343966924607349.post-62555207718114147932013-10-14T08:00:00.000-04:002013-10-14T08:00:08.185-04:00Music for Your MondayGeorges Delerue's Score for Le Mepris<br />
<object height="480" width="640"><param name="movie" value="//www.youtube.com/v/Sf6wYbJNwRc?hl=en_US&version=3"></param>
<param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param>
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<embed src="//www.youtube.com/v/Sf6wYbJNwRc?hl=en_US&version=3" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" width="640" height="480" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true"></embed></object>Annhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16755314154360328605noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-143343966924607349.post-76408472611368161102013-10-10T08:00:00.000-04:002013-10-10T08:00:14.303-04:00Recommendations I've Got From Others Lately + The stories of Alice Munro<br />
+ George Saunders<br />
+ "The Shadow Line" by Joseph Conrad <br />
+ Bob Dylan's "Early Roman Kings"<br />
+ The film "Breaking Away"<br />
+ The films of Ingmar Bergman<br />
+ Helen Vendler's Introduction to PoetryAnnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16755314154360328605noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-143343966924607349.post-6903056795705977522013-10-09T08:00:00.001-04:002013-10-09T08:00:09.627-04:00Lately<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUeR08luJTMP3aHHYTo4gxTea4DB72BNKtW0NHHtqMTvqZ1NRvnlgBPDH-LltiO-zxOs0QJNnl3AxEarnUo1Ap6jHb8d22nyRcnh6PsTyj_or9ANrt9xyRjq1loOjbzSf-rsNvIP1FbFZA/s1600/Screen+Shot+2013-10-06+at+11.58.36+PM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUeR08luJTMP3aHHYTo4gxTea4DB72BNKtW0NHHtqMTvqZ1NRvnlgBPDH-LltiO-zxOs0QJNnl3AxEarnUo1Ap6jHb8d22nyRcnh6PsTyj_or9ANrt9xyRjq1loOjbzSf-rsNvIP1FbFZA/s400/Screen+Shot+2013-10-06+at+11.58.36+PM.png" width="297" /> </a></div>
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+ Paul Simon on the brain, especially <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=U5eNT6lzzVU" target="_blank">this song</a>. </div>
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+ The role venturesome ignorance plays in creativity.</div>
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+ Gillian Welch's music, especially<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=B8aH4cRdplE" target="_blank"> this song. </a></div>
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+ Reading <a href="http://www.amazon.com/The-Social-Animal-Character-Achievement/dp/0812979370" target="_blank">this fascinating book</a>.</div>
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+ Reading <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Fiction-100-Anthology-Short-Edition/dp/0205175414" target="_blank">100 short stories for 100 days</a></div>
<br />Annhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16755314154360328605noreply@blogger.com0