you will too

The Starfish, by candlelight, inherits the earth.

--adam gopnik
the new yorker

remember the beautiful mind

We're still in this major overhaul of our apartment. It's been so strange to go through stuff, deciding to keep, toss, donate... at the same time, we're doing it in the digital recesses of our life, as well...and it keeps leading me back to all these photos from the last five years that are in deep storage here in the computer. I find my mind wandering to the same place...keep, toss, donate...

I came across one of my favorite photos-- apple photo booth, you brilliant little piece of technology -- probably about 4 years old.The thing that made it my favorite was the response I got from my friend. After I sent it to him, he wrote back,
'hey, good to hear from you. what's up with the "beautiful mind" area in the background?'

It was my studio.
Was.
I'm in a different place now.
I miss it, actually.


Photo No. 11, I guess I'll donate and keep. Settled.

Hey Cap'n!

In our class, we're big on treating people, animals and nature with respect. And, if you get caught mistreating someone or something, you can't cop out by saying, she (or he) made me do it! Doesn't work that way, we tell these little kids who are barely 7 years old. Nope, you gotta do what you know is best.

The phrase we use is this: You are the Captain of your own ship.

And they really took to it. Many a time I'd be walking past one of them and overhear them pleading with another child who'd done some sort of 'wrong',
but YOU are the captain of your OWN ship.

With school closing up shop for the summer, I knew I wanted to make them a little reminder of this past year together...




I was so happy with the way they came out.. (thanks to D, who gave me that ship image ages ago, it's inspired many a project; to RK for being a tech wiz), it felt truly satisfying doing some old school iron ons.

At the end of the day, they all put them on over their clothes and we took a bunch of photos together. I've never squeezed so many kids goodbye, so many times, in one day.

majesty in simplicity

image: oliva bee

We have one more week of school left. Some days, the kids' excitement is so palpable it could be Christmas. Other days, you'd think it was any other day of the week with all the work we have yet to do. With the same insanity that work is exuding, so goes my personal life. Our social calender, our commitments, our schedules are off the hook and we don't seem to be slowing down anytime soon.

When I saw this photo, it made me wish, for just a moment, to be a kid again. A warm evening, I'd walk out to the driveway to climb to the top of our old VW van and just watch the world go by....not a care in sight. Soon mom would call me in for dinner, or dad would ring the big dinner bell posted out on the front porch. I'd come to the table, along with my four other siblings, and we'd melt into the comfort of the known. We'd probably all have ice cream and slowly filter into our rooms. I'd crawl under the covers and read a book til I fell asleep.

Simple.

we must be willing
to get rid of the life we've planned,
so as to have the life
that is waiting for us.
--joseph campbell

Go see UP



and bring tissues.

daily routines

Kingsley Amis
The Paris Review, Winter 1975

INTERVIEWER:
Do you have a daily routine?

AMIS:
Yes. I don’t get up very early. I linger over breakfast reading the papers, telling myself hypocritically that I’ve got to keep with what’s going on, but really staving off the dreadful time when I have to go to the typewriter. That’s probably about ten-thirty, still in pajamas and dressing gown. And the agreement I have with myself is that I can stop whenever I like and go and shave and so on. In practice, it’s not till about one or one-fifteen that I do that—I usually try and time it with some music on the radio. Then I emerge, and nicotine and alcohol are produced. I work on until about two or two-fifteen, have lunch, then if there’s urgency about, I have to write in the afternoon, which I really hate doing—I really dislike afternoons, whatever’s happening. But then the agreement is that it doesn’t matter how little gets done in the afternoon. And later on, with luck, a cup of tea turns up, and then it’s only a question of drinking more cups of tea until the bar opens at six o’clock and one can get into second gear. I go on until about eight-thirty and I always hate stopping. It’s not a question of being carried away by one’s creative afflatus, but saying, “Oh dear, next time I do this I shall be feeling tense again.”

fantastic, fascinating website via my good friend, emma, who keeps her own fantastic, fascinating site

Polly

We have an old family friend that we used to giggle about, and with, because she would cry at the drop of a hat. We'd all be sitting around the kitchen table and could be talking about the most innocuous thing when tears would start to fill up in her eyes. Oh, she'd laugh while big drops were streaming down her cheeks.

I can remember when my oldest sister started in with the same uncontrollable tear ducts. "Ohmy," we'd be laughing, "you're just like Polly!" Not many years later, my other sister would have tear-filled-eyes in an instant. And, finally, me. I cry at commercials or when I hear beautiful music. I cry when I think about how much I love RK. Or when I'm with my whole family and we're all laughing so hard together, it quickly turns to tears of joy. Some of my most common cries these days can start when one of the kids at school says something really, beautifully adorable. A real water-works show for me was at an after-school performance this year: As the kids began to sing a familiar song, I started to quietly weep and my first graders were in shock. They stared at me in wonder.
"Miss Molly, Miss Molly, what's wrong? Are you okay?"
"I don't know", I whispered to them, "I guess this song just always makes me cry."
Q., who was sitting on my lap at the time, turned around to look behind me, "Well, it can't be that the song is sad," he said to me, "I just looked back at my mom and SHE'S not crying!"

Polly's daughters, D. and K. are the same exact way. There have been times when we've all been together, my mom, both my sisters, our two friends and Polly, and if you walked in the room while we were deep in topic, you might think someone had just died. But, no. We were probably just talking about a good old memory...that made us cry like babies.

When I watched this video for the first time on Paige's site, I bawled. And at the end of this good cry, I laughed to myself, thinking, "ohmy, i'm still just like Polly!"

Views from The Neighborhood

the pet hospital,
the recycling center, with truck the local clothing store,
homes, in the 'hood
trees and other foliage around the homes,

and then, of course, the shop names





it's really coming together! Soon, all of it will be glued down, and electric poles and street lights will be the next step...

Story Time

Every kid in the class can finally read. They are over the moon about it and so are we! Now, it's down to the kids taking turns reading to the class during story time. On Friday, B. read I Wish That I Had Duck Feet by Dr. Seuss. I have such an amazingly clear memory of reading this book at our old hometown library, it felt strange to be an adult now sitting and listening to it. We all giggled lots at each animal appendage mishap and are already looking forward to the next read, Go Dog Go.

if you say so

It recently occurred to me that I create these extra jobs for myself to make my pieces feel "right" from the inside. There's quite a few things I'll do in a piece that one may never see. I don't mind. It just makes it more authentic. It's not that I need everyone to relate to, or understand, the work (i learned that little bit of wisdom at my 1st open studios event), though you can't stop me talking about it to someone who is seriously, sincerely, curious about the pieces.

When I talk about the work, I can't help but describe it as something someone else has made. I usually start out with, "oh, this piece? well, this is from (any given name I've made up or found) and s/he was a russian immigrant/90 year old woman who'd lost her family/little boy with impeccable manners...." and go on to describe how this piece hung in their living room/bedroom/kitchen and I just happened across it when I met one of their relatives. Of course, it's all made up. But, to me, it feels real. Often, when I'm making something, as I'm laying out this or that part of a piece, it's like someone else's hands are doing it. I can picture the person saying to themselves, "i want to put this right here, because it meant so much to me."

My greatest compliment would be, if I overheard someone say, "What's that piece? Where did you find that? Was that your grandmothers?" I like to make pieces that seem vaguely familiar, that feel like family, an heirloom. It appeals to me to tear back wallpaper and see the layers and layers of age beneath them. Or buying an old piece of furniture, like a dresser, the drawers lined in newspaper from the early 1920's. People worked with what they had. I love that. You didn't need much back in the day (thing is, i still believe that and my 21st self struggles with it!).

The piece that was the final "treasure" in this weekend's treasure hunt had these little things... right before I closed the frame, I snuck a tiny little photo of a boy behind the primer card...you could just see his face. And, on the back, I layered old invoice paper with book binding tape and typed on another old math-problem card as if it was a fortune cookie, "you should be proud of yourself," it read, "you'll go far in life, I can tell."

When I saw Everything is Illuminated, I felt like I'd found my own treasure. Besides the scene where he is standing in front of a wall filled with collections (oh dream of dreams...), when they finally find what they didn't really realize they were looking for, they arrive at an old woman's house. An entire wall in her house is stacked high with boxes of other people's lives.I bawled my eyes out. Here is my life's project. Here's the next show. Here it is. Other people's lives, that may have gone unnoticed or ignored in the shoeboxes at garage sales or flea markets, I can so easily invent, create, re-tell. I collect and collect and collect for this very purpose.

A good friend of mine who got me into this whole art bizness in the first place finally dubbed my work as historical fiction, giving me the leeway to invent the stories, treat them as real and be okay with the idea that someone may or may not get what I'm going for.images from Hare & The Hounds show...
1. piece hanging at bi rite market, behind cashier
2. show in full swing
3. my map, purchased by this adorable couple i never got to personally meet
4. other juicy maps
5. still from film
6. 'treasure' found and returned to gallery, nestled amongst other beautiful maps

spammin' good time

Where others have come before....so go these "people":

Lingley Furr : Lingley was a skinny little kid who grew up to be a seamstress. But she never quite got the sewing part down. She climbs trees on weekends and owns three goldfish.

Toepel Hazell: Toepel is a collector. In particular, she collects dishes with faces on them. Mugs with eyeballs, plates with smiles, creamers with ears. She also collects those mustache mugs, not because she knows anyone with a mustache (Ms. Hazell is happily single, thank you), but because she likes putting her upper lip in there when she drinks milk.

Paulita Boldosser: Gads! Paulita is bossy! She's not a fan of anyone else's opinion. She had a really hard time when she was head of the garden walk last year.

Eiser Oswalt: Eiser spends his days tinkering with Model A's. He'll do Model T's too, but you've got to get on his good side from the beginning. Not hard to do, actually. Eiser is a sucker for caramel candies. Mary Jane's are his favorite.

Oaks Mengwasser: Oaks won "The Worlds Greatest Grandmother" award in 1960. She was super proud of it, but you'd never know it. She kept the plaque in her closet with her numerous checkerboard games.

Sanner Amidon

Kyler Chaffins

Mahunik Hembry

Maione Piche

Herimann Siever

Kihn Casterline

Ziter Noethiger

oakley birnberg

mayo bracy (one of the best!)

wander orji (another super goodie!)

daloia frates

baran henshaw

and, then, if you received an email from any one of these people (if they were even ON email! 'cuz, let's face it, most of these people are probably too busy to be caught up on email), it would probably read something like this:

Sometimes a cyprus mulch hibernates, but another demon always caricatures a cashier! If the tuba player over a hydrogen atom borrows money from another roller coaster toward an inferiority complex, then the cab driver over another girl scout takes a coffee break. When an accidentally orbiting hydrogen atom is usually hypnotic, a slow parking lot negotiates a prenuptial agreement with an accurately magnificent blood clot. A power drill inside the spider leaves, because a vacuum cleaner about a burglar pours freezing cold water on a phony fundraiser. Indeed, a crank case buys an expensive gift for the grizzly bear for a tuba player. An insurance agent...

oh spam, you never cease to amuse me!

Hare & Hounds, pt2

I used to love treasure hunts when I was younger. Apparently, there's a group here in SF that does them for random, perhaps partner-seeking, adults, as well. But, they never sounded like my thing.
Treasure hunts are like the game Simon Says, but with stuff. I actually really dig both those things. And hate 'em at the same time. Inevitably, somebody loses. And I like winning.

Luckily, for others who feel the same way, at Hare and The Hounds show this weekend everybody who plays, wins. I speak from experience, fabu, good -time, show. One of the best. Firstly, it's at 18 Reasons, which has evolved into this cool little spot in the 'hood that is a really great hang no matter what's going on there. Secondly, it' s being curated by Mike McConnell, who's a truly fantastic artist. It's a multiple-hour treasure hunt that has a banging b-b-q on the sidewalk, serious neighborhood style, right up my alley.

It's described as an art-based scavenger hunt. We make one piece of art for one wall and then make a map for the other wall. Anyone that likes your work can buy that piece on the wall. And anyone who is craving your map (and maps range from videotapes to bottles of rum with cryptic messages on the bottom), can purchase it, follow it, and have it lead them to the final "treasure": a piece of your work. My favorite part is making the map ...well, the actual day of fun is pretty hard to beat. This year, I made it short and sweet.

First, I had to plot it out a bit...


but I knew I wanted to use these old math problem cards

The funny old questions on the front of the card influenced what I ended up typing on the back side for the hunter to do...





I end up sending them up and down the same street, which I just love the thought of...because they'll be paying attention to things they might not otherwise have...or maybe they'll shake hands with someone in the park (per one of my directions) and start a conversation...You don't know until they show up at the gallery again an hour or more later. I love the idea of them having this little journey I've outlined...but surely not planned.

Well, chalk one up for treasure hunts, total randomness can happen.

I can't wait for this one.

lately,

I wish all life was as beautiful as PBS.

who are the people in your neighborhood?

So, in the first grade, we're building our neighborhood. We're using milk cartons and mixed paints and a bunch of recycled goods that they used as the interior of homes. But first, it was the people. The most important part of a neighborhood. We made a list of neighborhood people and got to work:

the guy that owns the cd shop

the local musician, a violinist

and a baker

a doctor, of coursea security guard. handcuffs drawn on and mace in hand.

yoga teacher with requisite bellybutton showing

pizza guy

if you had to guess, you'd guess ambulance driver

and, to get in on the act, Miss P.
and I made a Bishop and....

a rabbi (that was at request)

there's so many more of them, and soon, they will be running the neighborhood of milk cartons. We're all on pins and needles!

i do

Some parties are put together so seamlessly that it feels like you're in a bit of a dream... Sometimes, family and friends come together, put on a 'happening' of sorts, and you can just feel how much went into it all.
They're outdoors, under a tree, with tons of warm sun,

They party continues on in a local feed barn with strung lights and guests sitting on hay,

There's a do-it-yourself photo booth,

They have an art show curated by all the guests, giving life & love advice via their creative side,

and, at the end of the night, while the adults are dancing the night away, little kids fall asleep in cozy blankets on top of a stack of hay.

hold on

Isn't it interesting that we spend so much of our childhood in each other's laps, or holding hands, or walking in partners, but spend so much of our adult life avoiding contact?

Little kids have no personal space.
Nope, none whatsoever.
The kids I work with, so comfortably take one another's hands when crossing the street, or partnering up in games. They never seem to mind the crowding 'round when it's reading time, they take it to heart. Most of them give out hugs freely.

I don't know at what age that changes. And do we change it about ourselves, or does an adult plant that seed in our head? 'Cuz, at some point in life, we decide that there is such a thing as personal space. We have a pretty clear idea how close we let certain people get.


And then we either live with that, or spend time breaking that space down in tiny, little ways...

if i could be...

An historian. A historian.
It's debatable.

If I was one, Doris Kearns Goodwin is the one I'd be.