Sunday, May 31, 2009
Monday, May 25, 2009
After dropping off my weekend visitor at the airport yesterday, I went home, deflated the air mattress, threw a load in the washing machine, put away the mounds of clothing I habitually pile on top of my wicker and white beach cruiser (now glowing melancholy in the corner of my room), and decidedly treated myself to a pedicure.
Saturday, May 23, 2009
Sunday, May 17, 2009
House Beautiful asked the above question to several people who, by work or trade or preference or personality, they find inspiring. I love their answers so much I thought it necessary to share, as this is second-hand inspiration in it's best, most comforting, form. Here are my favorites:
The artistic brand/company Lansing-Dreiden, "a trio of young NY artists who are often seen (or not seen) as an anonymous entity, unknown to the world except through the mythical nature of their work" has me fully enthralled. First reading about them in an old edition of TOKION magazine, I found the possibility that they may or may not truly be the artists behind the work - the act of posing as Lansing-Dreiden the acual, intended exhibit - pretty brilliant. It's up to the public whether or not they take Jorge, Diego, and Keith as the talent responsible. TOKION author Maxwell Williams put it best:
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
Sunday, May 10, 2009
Saturday, May 9, 2009
Today Jess and Taylor are making the jaunt across the Hudson to a) pick up a few of Jess' boxes that made the trip with my own and b) to hit up Ikea. I've been mentally and physically preparing myself (in my sleep) for this trip for the last 14 hours or so, when Jess and I decided it was our to-do for today. Ikea both terrifies and fascinates me.
It doesn't interest me what you do for a living. I want to know what you ache for and if you dare to dream of meeting your heart's longing.
It doesn't interest me how old you are. I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool for love, for your dream, for the adventure of being alive.
It doesn't interest me what planets are squaring your moon. I want to know
if you have touched the centre of your own sorrow, if you have been opened by life's betrayals or have become shriveled and closed from fear of further pain.
I want to know if you can sit with pain, mine or your own, without moving to hide it, or fade it, or fix it.
I want to know if you can be with joy, mine or your own; if you can dance with wildness and let the ecstasy fill you to the tips of your fingers and toes without cautioning us to be careful, be realistic, remember the limitations of being human.
It doesn't interest me if the story you are telling me is true. I want to know if you can disappoint another to be true to yourself. If you can bear the accusation of betrayal and not betray your own soul. If you can be faithless and therefore trustworthy.
I want to know if you can see Beauty even when it is not pretty every day. And if you can source your own life from its presence.
I want to know if you can live with failure, yours and mine, and still stand at the edge of the lake and shout to the silver of the full moon, 'Yes.'
It doesn't interest me to know where you live or how much money you have. I want to know if you can get up after the night of grief and despair, weary and bruised to the bone and do what needs to be done to feed the children.
It doesn't interest me who you know or how you came to be here. I want to know if you will stand in the centre of the fire with me and not shrink back.
It doesn't interest me where or what or with whom you have studied. I want to know what sustains you from the inside when all else falls away.
I want to know if you can be alone with yourself and if you truly like the company you keep in the empty moments.
[image via here]