bioluminescence: to behold and not held

{His scientific compositions had, indeed, much in common with artistic creations which do not imitate actuality but transcend it and illuminate reality} excerpt from The Great Influenza by J.M. Barry about Oswald Avery of the Rockefeller Institute.

I named this blog bioluminescence not because I know anything about the biological mechanisms of luminescence. To me, bioluminescence implied shedding light on matters biological. The truth is, I hardly ever write about biology here, so the name conjures up fireflies instead. Recently, I posted a picture of synchronous fireflies lighting miraculously in unison. My blog has gotten more hits via that picture than any word I have ever written.

I want to tell you two stories now. One about fireflies and the other about seeing the light. First the fireflies. Like millions of little girls, I collected fireflies in jars at dusk. My best friend had a sprawling back lawn that led into an enchanted deciduous woods. I still remember those dreamy blue dusks and seeing the first fly introduce the evening with its fleeting signal. “Oh, did you see that?” We were freshly excited each time. Its a cliche to call it magical, but it was. They were the only bugs we weren’t disgusted by. One night as we inspected our jar of riches, we held a few individuals on our fingertips. Then my friend realized that they pooped on her fingers. We promptly let them all go, shaking the open jar in a grossed out fury. We never collected fireflies again much after that. But I went on worshipping them for their transcendental gift. My childhood best friend, who I met when I was 3 or 4 years old, is still my dear friend. The other day she sent me a link to the image above, which was taken by Japanese photographer Tsuneaki Hiramatsu using time-lapse photography to show fields full of firefly light on hazy summer nights in Okayama Prefecture, Japan.

The other story is less lovely. I am having some problems lately with my science. Its dying. I can feel it slipping away. Its too painful to explain in more detail. You see, I will always write about the light and not about the luciferase. I don’t think I care how a firefly lights. I just want to enjoy its tiny beam for a moment. In this particular case, ignorance is truly harmless. This is not to say that I don’t love biology and understand that knowledge can enhance appreciation. It’s that I respect the practice of science enough not to litter it with my unscientific mind. My mind is somewhere else, its in the woods sitting on fallen leaves, waiting desperately for the night.

Ceci n’est pas blog post

I love that you hated it, that means it was good.

There are too many people in the world, some have to be losers.

almost glory

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the sun is in my eyes

my down coat is silly

and fabric vestibules unnecessary

the park is a mellow brown-grey

the pond is almost frozen

mallards swim at its still liquid edges

i am not suffocated by the night

or by my three scarf sandwich

the end of my nose is almost warm

and i am enjoying this month

in all of its almost glory.

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encircle

This is my painting

or maybe it’s a collage.

It was painted in September.

I think of it as a floating world.

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36" x 48"

acrylic and pages from an old botany book, on wood

click here for additional details.

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2012 you’re alright

So many good things happened today: new beginnings, opportunities out of the blue, in the rare zone of peaceful focus during my work, finally hearing back after months of waiting, laughing at a joke I made in the wee hours of the morning which I forgot and then remembered later in the day to intense merriment and...most of all, he was here when I came home and he was cooking a creative and delicious meal. He also did the dishes. The only consistent reminder that I was not in a dream was the fact that I had slight gas all day.

New Things

A new blog header and a few links for your lazy winter web-browsing. May your new year be filled with peace and wonder and goodness.

A coffee addict’s guide to the world- note to self: bookmark it so you don’t get a headache on your trip to Turkey or Argentina. P.S. I have had the civet coffee (see Indonesia), and it tastes like poop.

We got a big kick out of this baked potato bean bag chair and the pizza sleeping bag.

A beautifully shot film about Ray, a man who dedicated his life to diving “for gold and mermaids”.

Thinking about reading Then Again and Blue Nights.

Let it Be Beautiful: a fab little project by Elizabeth Barker and Laura Jane Faulds. Over the course of nine volumes, Liz and LJ will rewrite every Beatles song (there are 300!) as a story or an essay. via miss moss.

Hope to go to a few of these restaurants in the new year.

I wish this was the case.

rune guneriussen- magical realism and more.

Tomboy Style- check out the piece about whisk(e)y drinking.

And speaking of big Ice cubes... Ice Cube celebrates The Eames-a charming tribute video.

770 Behind The Line- its the Jcrew tumblr, a few interesting things beyond pure retail.

I loved this Paris Review post about a dress.

The story of that New Year’s Eve song that we know so well but, at the same time, don’t really.

The Shop

I wrote this post in 2006, Joe had his last day at the shop today.


I feel lucky to be marrying someone who loves their job. Joe has worked at “the shop” building a certifiable stairway to paradise for over 5 years now. I have to keep reminding myself of this to quell my anger and sadness when he works. He works a lot and seems to be on call like a physician, but I know he enjoys mostly every minute of it. When I visit his work place I am reminded of the energy it holds and why Creative Engineering is like a drug addiction, not physically good for you, everyone is telling you to stop, but in his mind and devoted heart, it makes him glow with life.

When Joe talks about his work to others, his eyes shine as he churns out more exacting detail than even the most fastidious client would ever care to hear. People nod, but I know he has lost them in the 45 degree angle, and all thats left for them to focus on is his refulgent enthusiasm that they are desperately hoping is contagious.

In the shop testosterone fuels a smattering of suspicion and mistrust, but blaring classic rock, clouds of sawdust and a childlike anticipation of lunchtime unites them. A reluctant camaraderie embraces its members who are striving young men that enter through a revolving door from virtually all walks of life. Sometimes they are looking for the shop to save them, from themselves and from the uncertainty that life has dealt them.

It is 10000 square feet of colors, textures, woods, metals, glue, nails, whining power tools, sweat, calluses and foolish stubborn dedication to a cause they pretend to have little respect for in the end.

Decisions have to be made that disappear into the complete piece. How do we match this color, how do we achieve this texture or shape?

And while it is not always comforting to think of engineering getting too creative, as the name suggests, they do good solid proud work at the shop. Most of their work probably goes unnoticed, like most things. But it is in the process of construction where the true ingenuity lies.