raison d’ etre

Honey, you are just a Christmas ornament on the tree of life.

This is not my quote. It was said to a family member of mine. But, it could have been said to me. In fact, I am saying it to me.

In the wake of the storm, I have been thinking a lot about non-essential jobs. Most jobs are just massive whirring machines of distraction. Just a way to keep us busy, thinking, making, getting people together, meetings, initiatives, ideas. Generating a raison d' etre and the pensive, satiated exhale that accompanies it. Its why we wake up. Its why I wake up. Although, non-essentialism is essential. I am not a Gradgrind. I am the furthest thing from it. There are too many people in the world for everyone to be a key member of society working to help save lives. And its a good, virtuous decision for certain people not to save or help anyone in particular.

I feel guilty being useless. But being useless is my best use. I would be a terrible nurse, emergency worker or even waitress. I am just going to try to be the best ornament I can be; shiny, steadfast and sometimes joyful.

So sad about all the loss in the wake of the storm. My heart goes out to those who lost loved ones, houses, cars, beautiful old trees, power and light. Stay warm New York.

It was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness

“I knew those were the best times” my mother told me once, describing the moment where her four children were in and out of the kitchen, talking, whining, grabbing at the cheese and bread she was slicing and walking in and out of the back door to the sun-filled, overgrown backyard.

I am afraid that my {best of times} might be now. In graduate school, collecting data, in autumn in New York, working at the museum, walking across the park on these exquisite days, stressing about the future, lucky to have something to look forward to, not slogging away at the same old boring job, stressors, surprises, loneliness, i-love-what-i-am-doing days followed by what-am-i-doing days... under 35 not sick or elderly. this may actually be it. trying to enjoy it, difficult to do with my personality, hunting for trouble or ennui that i can relate to.

Elegance, Bounty, Bread and Dead Birds

We recently went to the exhibit at the National Gallery of Art Entitled Elegance and Refinement: The Still-Life Paintings of Willem van Aelst. Oh how I adore 16th-17th Century Dutch still lives. Especially the ones with deep, dark backgrounds and shimmering fruits, oysters, bread and flowers in the foreground. I like the disorderly ones the best of all, with peeled fruit, scattered crumbs, glasses of wine knocked over, and blood running down the mouths of birds and rabbits.

The Larder by Antonio Maria Vassallo, 1650

Still life with Figs and Bread by Luis Meléndez, Spanish, 1760

Breakfast Items by Pierer Claesz, 1646

and some lovely modern renditions, photographs by Justine Reyes:

Still Life with Banana, Purse and Change, 2009

Still Life with Pomegranate and Birds, 2009

the yahoo years

I have lived two lives. One, an occasionally joyus although sometimes inexplicably melancholy, living, breathing, face to face life. And the other, a life of silent expressions that confess, console, question, quit, explain, swear and repent. My other life is my yahoo email.

I have had my yahoo email address for 15 years. Its getting to the point that the address gives me an air of unprofessionalism, immaturity and overall un-tech-savvyness. None of which are ok for me to have. I am going to be 34 this year. I might be a professor one day. I live in New York. I just got an iPhone. I desperately need to move on. These days the '@yahoo.com' makes even the most dignified names, tacky:

jacquelinebouvierkennedyonassis@yahoo.com or gustaveflaubert@yahoo.com.

I have a gmail account and a school address. I never use them. Every day, several obsessive times a day, for 15 years I have signed in and signed out. I check. I check again. I write messages with tears streaming down my face. I write messages in love and in haste. I re-read. I feel powerful and honest. I pour over words and how they sound against one another. I press send. I regret. I wait. I regret. I check.

I don’t like to talk on the phone. So many of my professional contacts and dearest friends are only reached via this email address. If I had to call them, I would be absolutely nowhere. I explain myself far better when I don’t have to speak. I know this can be accomplished on any email server. And this glorious digital age is laden with opportunities to sit at a computer and spill your uncensored guts to an abstract someone (i.e. this blog).

But my whole life is there, on yahoo. Its a dense and unpoetic chronicle. I keep every message. I say too much.

MANGER from Médoc

There is a new blog on my blogroll: MANGER by Mimi Thorisson who chronicles her magnificent life of food, kids, dogs and friends in Médoc, France.

Thomas Prior via all the mountains.

late blooms

a new painting. this one felt like memories and the night. more details here.