The King's Speech

Oh my word.  We saw The King's Speech last night and I got to experience one of those perfect moments when you're watching a movie and everything comes together so beautifully and perfectly and is so moving, and then one of your favorite songs starts playing and you just lose it.  During the most emotional part of the movie (for me at least) Beethoven's Symphony No. 7 starts playing (one of my favorites) and I started sobbing, and that song was followed by another all-time favorite, Beethoven's Piano Concerto No. 5 and I was done.  I sobbed the rest of the movie, and then had to go into a bathroom stall to cry a little bit more, and then had difficulty talking to D afterwards because I was still so emotional.  The movie itself was so incredibly wonderful because it hit so many big topics:  insecurties, family obligation, unconditional love and support from a spouse, the importance of having someone who believes in you.  It's a great movie for men as well and it made me think of my husband and his father and my father and the pressure that men often silently deal with to be strong simply because it is expected of them because they are men. 
Those Beethoven songs also made me think of my parents, and how thankful I am that they eventually got us a family piano, and gave me the gift of piano lessons which gave me love for classical music.  It also made me appreciative of having a mom who watched the indie film channel when we were growing  up (even though we thought at the time those movies were so boring!)  because I don't think I would have such a strong connection to Beethoven if I had never seen the movie Immortal Beloved, which was about Beethoven's life. 
Bottom line:  GO SEE THE KINGS SPEECH!

*image from here

Michael Triegel

I'm loving this beautiful mixed media piece by Michael Triegel I found here.

Dailies

October 20, 2010

4x6 inches
water colors, ink, graphite and marker on Strathmore water color paper

From my new project

A World Without Art

In grad school we studied quite a bit of outsider art/art brut (whatever you want to call it) and while the HUGE no no of art therapy is interpreting art or diagnosing through artwork, it still strikes me how often the work of  people suffering from schizophrenia shares so many similar characteristics.  I was on the link trail yesterday and found the work of Carlo Zinelli.  I had never heard of him before, but had to google him to see if he did indeed suffer from schizophrenia because his drawings and paintings had all the characteristics.  It seems like art had quite an impact on his life:

He was committed to the psychiatric hospital in Verona in 1947 and spent ten years in almost total isolation.  Carlo's life took a turn ten years later, when he and twenty other patients were admitted to the painting atelier created by sculptors Michael Noble and Pino Castagna and psychiatrist Mario Marini. In this atelier, patients were encouraged to paint or sculpt freely.

Completely engrossed by his work, Carlo drew for eight hours a day with tempera paints and colored pencils. This routine seems to have calmed him considerably; clinical evaluations from this time comment on his good behavior. By 1964, his work had been exhibited, and he had attracted the attention of art historians associated with Jean Dubuffet and the Compagnie de l'Art Brut.  ~from wikipedia

*images from here,  here and here
 

Friday Music Muse-January Hymn Lyrics by The Decemberists

I'm loving the new The Decemberists album.  Critics give them crap for their decorative use of vocabulary (which I happen to adore) and it's most definitely absent from this record, but I love it nonetheless.
January Hymn Lyrics is perfect for this time of year for all of us living in snowy cold dark climates.



On a winter's Sunday I go
To clear away the snow
And green the ground below

April all an ocean away
Is this the better way to spend the day?
Keeping the winter at bay

What were the words I meant to say before you left?
When I could see your breath lead
Where you were going to
Maybe I should just let it be
And maybe it will all come back to me
Sing: O January O

How I lived a childhood in snow
And all my teens in tow
Stuffed in strata of clothes

Pale the winter days after dark
Wandering the gray memorial park
A fleeting beating of hearts

What were the words I meant to say before she left?
When I could see her breath lead
Where she was going to
Maybe I should just let it be
And maybe it will all come back to me
Sing: O January O

PS- How cool is this Polaroid project involving the Decemberists? (The photos I used were from this project by artist Autumn de Wilde)

I've been searching for a heart of gold...

   


I added a few new golden heart Valentine charms to my shop!  They're available here.
Also, Fred Flare sold out of my stash of Battered Heart necklaces I sent them in a flash, but they ordered more and are back in stock and they even photographed a pretty little lady wearing it!

 

31 Weeks

Enjoying a cup of tea after a great meeting at Kopi Cafe with a new client today.  I'm designing a logo for her wedding invites and having so much fun with it! 
On another note, doesn't Woody looked stoned?

Tuesday Poetry Post- Nights by Kevin Hart

Nights

by Kevin Hart

There’s nothing that I really want:
The stars tonight are rich and cold
Above my house that vaguely broods
Upon a path soon lost in dark.
My dinner plate is chipped all round
(It tells me that I’ve changed a lot);
My glass is cracked all down one side
(It shows there is a path for me).
My hands—I rest my head on them.
My eyes—I rest my mind on them.
There’s nothing that I really need
Before I set out on that path.



*image from here

Winter Birthdays

Yesterday was my older brother Mike's bday (Happy Birthday Mike!) so we celebrated with his favorite meal, meat roll and chocolate cherry cake.  That's the two of us above before our other little brothers were born.

30 Weeks

Big belly, big hair.  Probably about time to let go of the horizontal stripes for a while.

Chocolate Covered Cherries

I saw this image on Fred Flare and it made me think of my dad because he loves chocolate covered cherries and every year for his birthday we would give him a box. (And he always shared!)

Spätzle

D was away this weekend so I pretty much hunkered down in my studio and finished this big project I have been working on for a while that I am so excited to share soon!  It's my newest line of necklaces which will be coming out in February.
I also had brunch with a couple of friends, got my first ever professional pedicure and manicure (I can no longer paint my toenails comfortably.  My stomach gets in the way)

Then yesterday I met up with my friend Seeley at Julius Mienl and was brought back to my trip to Vienna when I spotted spätzle on the menu!  I about had a heart attack.  We both ordered it, and the waitress came back to say they actually ran out and only could fill one order, and so my sweet friend Seeley let me get the last order of cheesy spätzle, and it was HEAVEN!  Now I'm craving it.

*image from here

Tuesday Poetry Post-White Eyes by Mary Oliver

White Eyes 

by Mary Oliver

In winter
    all the singing is in
         the tops of the trees
              where the wind-bird
with its white eyes
    shoves and pushes
         among the branches.
              Like any of us
he wants to go to sleep,
    but he's restless—
         he has an idea,
              and slowly it unfolds
from under his beating wings
    as long as he stays awake
         But his big, round music, after all,
             is too breathy to last.
So, it's over.
    In the pine-crown
         he makes his nest,
              he's done all he can.
I don't know the name of this bird,
    I only imagine his glittering beak
         tucked in a white wing
              while the clouds—
which he has summoned
    from the north—
         which he has taught
              to be mild, and silent—
thicken, and begin to fall
    into the world below
         like stars, or the feathers
              of some unimaginable bird
that loves us,
    that is asleep now, and silent—
         that has turned itself
              into snow.

*photo from here

Maurizio Anzeri

I saw these embroidered vintage photographs by Maurizio Anzeri in the New York Times a little bit ago and about had a heart attack.  These are so up my alley.  I hope to see them in person soon.

Images from here

Friday Music Muse- Bonnie Prince Billy "I See a Darkness"

Well, you're my friend, (that's what you told me)
And can you see (what's inside of me)
Many times we've been out drinking
And many times we've shared our thoughts
But did you ever, ever notice, the kind of thoughts I got
Well you know I have a love, a love for everyone I know
And you know I have a drive to live I won't let go
But could you see its opposition comes arising up sometimes
That its dreadful antiposition comes blacking in my mind

And then I see a darkness
And then I see a darkness
And then I see a darkness
And then I see a darkness
And did you know how much I love you
Is a hope that somehow you, you
Can save me from this darkness

Well I hope that someday buddy
We have peace in our lives
Together or apart
Alone or with our wives
And we can stop our whoring
And pull the smiles inside
And light it up forever
And never go to sleep
My best unbeaten brother
This isn't all I see

Oh no, I see a darkness
Oh no, I see a darkness
Oh no, I see a darkness
Oh no, I see a darkness
And did you know how much I love you
Is a hope that somehow you, you
Can save me from this darkness

*image by Henri Cartier-Bresson

Fred Flare

I'm super excited to announce that one of my anti-Valentine charm necklaces is being sold over at Fred Flare in Brooklyn, NY!!!

Underlined: Just Kids by Patti Smith

As I said before, this book was incredible on so many levels.  I honestly did not know much about Patti Smith before reading Just Kids, so you don't need to be a big fan to enjoy the book.  It's beautifully written.  The life she lived when she moved to NYC was quite remarkable.  The people she met, artists, writers, actors, musicians.  This passage sums up the mood of her early days  that struck me so.

When I came to New York I had brought a few colored pencils and a wood slate to draw on.  I had drawn a girl at a table before a spread of cards, a girl divining her fate.  It was the only drawing I had to show Robert [Mapplethorpe], which he liked very much.  He wanted me to experience working with fine paper and pencils, and shared his materials with me.  We would work side by side for hours, in a state of mutual concentration.

We hadn't much money but were were happy.  Robert worked part-time and took care of the apartment.  I did the laundry and made our meals, which were very limited.  There was an Italian bakery we frequented, off Waverly.  We would choose a nice loaf of day old bread or a quarter pound of their stale cookies offered at half-price.  Robert had a sweet tooth, so the cookies often won out.  Sometimes the woman behind the counter would give us extra and fill the small brown paper sack to the brim with yellow and brown pinwheels, shaking her head and murmuring friendly disapproval.  Most likely she could tell is was our dinner.  We would add take-out coffee and a carton of milk.  Robert loved chocolate milk but it was more expensive and we would deliberate whether to spend the extra dime.  We had our work and one another. 

p. 45

*photo from here

War Medals

This piece created by Anne Holman is pretty amazing.

Tuesday Poetry Post-Painting a Room by Katia Kapovich

Here on a March day in ‘89
I blanch the ceiling and walls with bluish lime.
Drop cloths and old newspapers hide
the hardwood floors. All my furniture has been sold,
or given away to bohemian friends.
There is nothing to eat but bread and wine.
An immigration visa in my pocket, I paint
the small apartment where I’ve lived for ten years.
Taking a break around 4 p.m.,
I sit on the last chair in the empty kitchen,
smoke a cigarette and wipe my tears
with the sleeve of my old pullover.
I am free from regrets but not from pain.
Ten years of fears, unrequited loves, odd jobs,
of night phone calls. Now they’ve disconnected the line.
I drop the ashes in the sink, pour turpentine
into a jar, stirring with a spatula. My heart throbs
in my right palm when I pick up the brush again.
For ten years the window’s turquoise square
has held my eyes in its simple frame.
Now, face to face with the darkening sky,
what more can I say to the glass but thanks
for being transparent, seamless, wide
and stretching perspective across the size
of the visible.
Then I wash the brushes and turn off the light.
This is my last night before moving abroad.
I lie down on the floor, a rolled-up coat
under my head. This is the last night.
Freedom smells of a freshly painted room,
of wooden floors swept with a willow broom,
and of stale raisin bread.

*photo by Irving Penn

Babymoon

We just got back from our babymoon in the Bahamas.  It was the best vacation that I have ever been on in my entire life.  We were in paradise.  We stayed at The One & Only Ocean Club and it was the most gorgeous, fancy, magical place I've ever stayed.  Normally when I go on vacation, even to beautiful places I love like Turks and Caicos or London, I am always ready to come home, always.  Not this time.  (Even though I missed my Schnoodle terribly.) 
It was mind blowing.  Every day consisted of breakfast in our room overlooking the ocean, sitting on the beach reading all day, lounging by the saline pool, swims in the salt water, extravagant dinners and desserts and lots of movies.  Purse bliss.
This was the view from our room.

Our baby girl started kicking harder than ever, and we got to see her feet/elbows protruding from my belly while I was lying in my bikini on the beach.  (I finished the Patti Smith biography Just Kids.  It was FANTASTIC.  It was the perfect book for me to read.  She sort of lived the life I dreamed of living when I was 20.)

Here is the beautiful ocean side bar/hotel.   We really didn't even have to leave the grounds of this resort because everything was here, although we went to Atlantis for dinner a couple nights.

I love this photo D took of the three of us fresh out of the ocean with salt water on my belly.

Atlantis had some gorgeous Dale Chihuly pieces.

The grounds of this resort had beautiful gardens to explore.

Here we are playing our little one a Wilco song, Far, Far Away, the first song we danced to as husband and wife.

Happy Birthday Kenny.

Today is the King's Birthday.  (Happy Birthday Elvis, and Happy Birthday Dad)

Seven Months!!! (Babymoon)

A big 'ole belly shot from the Bahamas.

Dailies

October 15, 2010

4x6 inches
ink, thread and marker on Strathmore water color paper

From my new project

Tuesday Poetry Post- Snow by David Berman

Snow
by David Berman

Walking through a field with my little brother Seth
I pointed to a place where kids had made angels in the snow.
For some reason, I told him that a troop of angels
had been shot and dissolved when they hit the ground.
He asked who had shot them and I said a farmer.


Then we were on the roof of the lake.
The ice looked like a photograph of water.
Why he asked. Why did he shoot them.
I didn't know where I was going with this.
They were on his property, I said.


When it's snowing, the outdoors seem like a room.
Today I traded hellos with my neighbor.
Our voices hung close in the new acoustics.
A room with the walls blasted to shreds and falling.
We returned to our shoveling, working side by side in silence.


But why were they on his property, he asked.


*photo from here

Underlined: The Corrections by Johnathan Franzen

I was on a Jonathan Franzen kick in November and read both The Corrections and Freedom.  Both books were incredible!  I thought this passage from The Corrections was brilliant:

But Denise left the kitchen and took the plate to Alfred, for whom the problem of existence was this: that, in the manner of a wheat seedling thrusting itself up out of the earth, the world moved forward in time by adding cell after cell to its leading edge, piling moment on moment, and that to grasp the world even in its freshest, youngest moment provided no guarantee that you'd be able to grasp it again a moment later. By the time he'd established that his daughter, Denise, was handing him a plate of snacks in his son Chip's living room, the next moment in time was already budding itself into a pristinely ungrasped existence in which he couldn't absolutely rule out the possibility, for example, that his wife, Enid, was handing him a plate of feces in the parlor of a brothel; and no sooner had he reconfirmed Denise and the snacks and Chip's living room than the leading edge of time added yet another layer of new cells, so that he again faced a new and ungrasped world; which was shy, rather than exhaust himself playing catch-up, he preferred more and more to spend his days down among the unchanging historical roots of things. p 66

Dailies

October 14, 2010

4x6 inches
ink, thread and marker on Strathmore water color paper

From my new project