Thank god it’s not statutes. Am I right? Ha, ha. You’ve probably seen this one before because I am so proud of it.
What can I tell you about this photo? I looked out the window at the Louvre and clicked the button. I have started to really more into photography, which means three things:
1. I don’t use auto settings anymore.
2. I’ve become kind of annoying to my friends.
3. I will post more photos on here.
Statues are so easy to photograph because they stand there and look pretty and don’t even get mad when you take a selfie with them. Statutes are noticeably more difficult.
Where’sMyBackpack, thank you for such a great travel challenge.
This past week, it poured, literally and figuratively. My apartment, my life, my pillow, all soaked. As I write this, the rain keeps coming, no signs of slowing.
Multiple rounds of bad news made me want to stay in my room under my cozy comforter, the Dog curled in tight. But a blanket is no armor. And though I want nothing more than to get on a plane and see my family, I can’t.
This is the biggest drawback of my life 2,018 miles away from my nearest and dearest—there’s no teleportation, no easy way. I have to face the sting of regret when time slips through my hands like a rope. I have to confront the fact that I have missed a lot of birthday cakes and memorials and piano recitals, a lot of moments I really “should of” been there, but couldn’t be.
Damn you entropy!
But forget the storm for a moment. Let’s travel beyond it and into the Yakima Valley.
Yakima Valley Travel
Moving to the country, going to eat a lot of peaches.
There’s a vast desert past the heavy drape of clouds. The topography changes suddenly, just past the ridge. Shrubs, sagebrush, and balsam roots replace leaning firs. Dijon-colored hills roll against a slate sky. Washington is nicknamed the Evergreen State, but the Yakima valley is all gold. Continue reading →
It was a wild week in art.
First, during a writing workshop that combines looking at art and writing, a fellow volunteer (Michael Don’t-Know-His-Last-Name) pointed out that the ancient funerary portrait below, which hangs in the Seattle Art Museum looks just like Bill Murray, my too-old-for-me celebrity crush.
Where is Bill Murray on Ground Hog Day?
I have been working on three extremely scientific theories about the portrait:
1) Bill Murray’s face has time-travel powers.
2) Bill Murray’s face is trapped in the Seattle Art Museum. In Ground Hog Day fashion, he endures one day on repeat. Except instead of loveable bumpkins in a quaint Pennsylvania town, he’s stuck listening to snooty Seattle art critics. Poor Bill!
3) Everyone has an ancient doppelganger. Mine is surely Cleopatra.
Art Attacks & Attitudes
Also last week, while enjoying a few drinks in an overrated hipster bar, a huge wooden installation fell off the wall and hit my sister’s arm. Had she been sitting one seat over, she would have been knocked unconscious. Or electrocuted by the piece’s blinking bulb nose. This was not the kind of art one dreams of being killed by.
The bar didn’t offer to comp. her meal, not even when she mentioned impending bruises. Rather, the owner gave her the attitude. As if she willed the painting to fly off the wall just to get a small bowl of baked macaroni for free. Continue reading →
Larry Clark comes to Quebec City and reminds me not to give a fuck.
Remember the movie Kids? You know, with all the fucking, drinking teenagers? That movie shocked me when I saw it at the innocent age of 15. But I loved it. I loved it because it presented kids just like the ones in my neighborhood – mostly my brother’s friends, who used to have crazy parties at my house while my single mom was busy working two jobs.
I loved it because it was raw and honest. I loved it because after awhile it was banned from the video store I used to walk to and we couldn’t find it anymore.
I love it because Larry Clark doesn’t care. He doesn’t care what you think or what I think. He speaks for “degenerates,” he makes art out of little known realities. “This is what’s happening.”
Life isn’t all pearls and garden clubs. People, yes even teenagers do drugs, have sex, get addicted to various substances, struggle, murder, commit suicide. He has the balls to show it.
Larry Clark came to Quebec City and I attended his master’s class and viewed the film for the first time in 15 years. It made me more uncomfortable this time because I’m an adult now and watching kids do whipits and have sex is horrifying. It’s not me anymore – these are teenagers, all pointy limbs and filthy mouths and tight tee shirts. Continue reading →