ivan teretschenko and
pierre le tan
+ see here
15.1.11
cue sancho
switching creative gears is not so easy
some days i feel like the girl in the middle
(such confidence, such sense of self! & it's
not just about the outfit, tho surely she does
adore that sweet kit of hers)
other days, things seem
a bit more quixotic
first & third photos: the lovely & always remarkable alice
romainian costume: not quite sure
14.1.11
always
wanted to create.
art.
last night,
dreaming me woke up & knew that
the only thing left behind when
we're gone is love.
the one thing we get to leave the world with.
maybe everybody else already gets
this. to me, it seemed a
little shocking.
love being the only immortal & no substitutes allowed.
this is not news.
(but it felt like it was.)
all the stuff in the world, and the one thing that matters
is the easiest, if you can
just focus.
(all the art is only a reflection.)
which is okay, finally.
the desire to create
remains.
why just seems different now.
somewhere
needed to admit i
always wanted to create.
art.
last night,
dreaming me woke up & knew that
the only thing left behind when
we're gone is love.
the one thing we get to leave the world with.
maybe everybody else already gets
this. to me, it seemed a
little shocking.
love being the only immortal & no substitutes allowed.
this is not news.
(but it felt like it was.)
all the stuff in the world, and the one thing that matters
is the easiest, if you can
just focus.
(all the art is only a reflection.)
which is okay, finally.
the desire to create
remains.
why just seems different now.
photo, vt: last fall, somewhere
between
chicago and san francisco
11.1.11
He did with everything 8×10; you couldn’t afford to make duplicate exposures. He never did.
“I knew I really didn’t look that good, and that Edward had glorified me,” Ms. Wilson said later, as recounted in The Model Wife, a 1999 study by Arthur Ollman of nine photographers and their images of their wives, “but it was a very pleasant thing to be glorified and I couldn’t wait to go back for more."
went to a wonderful lecture today.
john maruoka spoke on the work of
charis wilson (above) served as
driver & grant writer (as well as ghost
writer, it seems) for mr. weston. they
were married from 1939 to 1946.
mr. maruoka's lecture was far more
illuminating than this post, but
i'd have to unscramble my notes
to share that with you. hope the
links will suffice, for now.
photo: here
quote, post title: here
10.1.11
in the long run
when i hear scott schumann talk about starting out with his camera, or i see grace coddington with her unsurpassed eye and shock of red curls and brilliant determination; when i read p. gaye tapp's posts & see the magnificence that ivan tereschenko shares with us on an almost daily basis...when the original work of michael jakubowski makes me smile, again and again, and hollister hovey and megan wilson and duncan hannah bring forth the world as we might have imagined it once before (were we small and listening at dusk to churchill's voice on the radio -- hoping not to hear, instead, the air-raid siren); when remodelista publishes day after day without fail some of the most glorious environments on earth, and my dear friend sara melling delights the beekman boys with her perfectly gorgeous drawings, and blue writes and says there is little that is truly urgent...i know this is why keeping a blog sustains so many of us.
what better way is there, balancing it with being out in the world, than to reach across and over boundaries that, at one time, might have kept us all apart unknowing and perhaps unseeing? this sort of communication wasn't even vaguely possible when i was a young mom raising three (then four) small (magnificent) human beings. how i would have relished having a voice like this, then: a way to speak to someone on the other side of the world while i kept home fires burning and the young officer we loved (those children and i; their father, my husband) patrolled icy waters in a silent boat that we heard nothing absolutely nothing of and nothing from for three months at a time (& twice a year). yes, i'd have given my eye teeth to stroll with mrs. blandings through her new house, or spend the evening visiting beth and her poetry. these days, i think of that young mom and i am thankful. for all of this, and all of that. for all of you. and, very much so, for that man and the four magnificent human beings with whom we have been able to share our life.
(that this way of communicating reaches over boundaries, it goes so much further than that- doesn't it? it is a way of seeing that we are all connected. far bigger than any single tweet, little blog, quiet facebook post. it- all of this communication, with so many voices that used to be silent (or near-silent)- will lead, i hope, to something mankind has been waiting for. the truth of peace. the realization that all is really just one. in the long run, that's what i continue to hope for. in the short run, i am- again- thankful to share the hope of peace with anyone.)
9.1.11
that galliano picnic with grace
one more time around the september issue;
found myself wondering if that photo ever
popped up on the interwebs.
looks like it did, via c. rocha.
(think it would have been printed,
well, tuned way-down + hazier if
ms. coddington were to oversee it?
the colors don't quite remind me of
those you see in the conversation)
it would seem that mr. schumann is right
like a train coming down the tracks
i am somewhat
concerned
that a dangerous
obsession with
ancient needle
work is coming
on. it is nothing
new, i had one
years ago (like,
when i was 11?).
true.
the problem with
this is that it might
include...i dunno...
waaaay too many
hours scoping out
stuff
and the desire to
own some of it
and the urge
to start my
own up
again
when i have
many an
unfinished canvas
already in the attic.
yummy stuff above: needleprint
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