Bulls-Lie

I asked a co-worker over a semi genius Thai meal in Atlanta, what it was he would create if he had the dough to bake any cookie- AKA ability to launch any business he dreamt. His eyes lit up and the two young dimples that clutched on to his long-gone youth surfaced. "I would do a restaurant!," He proclaimed and continued to give me the A-Zs on the name, design, menu, and vibe. His eyes watered as he flowed with thought, excitement, and hope. He had clearly put some thought into this cookie...

When the question was thrown back at me, I stumbled. Even though I had spent countless hours and drop millions of "what if!" bombs on my boyfriend and patient family, I had never put all my ingredients into one concept. I quickly responded with what rolled most fluently off my tongue: "I love photography."

Long silence.

He asked me what it was that made me love photography.

Long silence again, interrupted with, "You must love it because it freezes time!" A quick gag reflex came over as this response seemed to be the new artistic cliche. "Not really." I responded. I drifted into my usual thought zone and quickly compiled a sentence that described my love affair with images. "Without photographers, I would live without seeing a significant amount of life."

The first example I could think of to better clarify this was the Eiffle Tower. Yes, you can go to www.google.com and type in E-I-F-L-E and it will say, DID YOU MEAN EIFFEL? And you will click yes! And then you will be directed to a page where you can view hundreds of images of the Eiffel Tower. 99% of these will be historical or modern cropped views of the Parisian tower with the surrounding landscapes, and some pretty lights. What makes a view that is unexpected, maybe unobtainable, and often wrapped in an underlying meaning, is a true photographer's perspective. Without these people and the raw pixels they produce, we would simply overlook the art of life.



Another case in point: Surfing. The basics and what a human sees from land versus the art of knowing an angle that is special and having the capability to introduce an object or human in a way otherwise invisible.


Photo by Morgan Maassen

Back to this cookie thing: You can pile in all the ingredients you want and stir that shit until your face goes prune and a day in the life of _____ becomes full of should-haves. The only way to create the taste you are after is to know the recipe that makes you become passionate. Go on... google it. You probably won't get too far as this sort of forte isn't found on Facebook.

The Way of Nature, The Way of Grace

Terrence Malick, the acclaimed director of such classic films as Badlands, Days Of Heaven and The Thin Red Line, proves himself another round. Yes, it has an all-star cast (Sean Penn, Brad Pitt), but has little to do with line deliverance's and facial expression execution. The script come secondary to the cinematography that truly creates The Tree of Life. An impressionistic story of a midwestern family in the 1950′s that uses a constant metaphor of evolution, primal ism, and Americanism. Questions are proposed that many children and adults ask throughout their lifespan regarding religion and who it is that they should turn to in times of mourn; a young boy's fear of depression sparks at an early age, as shadows begin to unfold his predetermined future. The Tree of Life shows the human race at its most glorious moments and weakest hours; death is vaporized and birth is celebrated with the constant rise and fall of the sun. "A film of such aesthetic sublimity that it is almost a holy thing itself."
And a film for all those who are willing to examine the span of life beyond what we conclude in our simple minds. Images caught from the deepest crevasses of the earth's surface to the galactic space and cellular reproduction of humans. The photography is mesmerizing, and the story... is one that may feel oddly familiar.

Elke Kramer & The Geese of Beverly Road

Tracing my fingers along the glass of the jewelry counter, deja vu fogs over: I am a kid, I am in a candy store, and I have a neglected cavity. As a grown adult who purposely puts up blinders when strolling through pay check suicide, I am in a Newport beach boutique and I cannot help but stop and gawk. Foreign shapes, renovated hardware, odd finishes- pieces that rub you the wrong way but feel right. Large bangles and rings that make you question how you get them on and burn you with their natural ability to define style. When I first fell (hard) for Elke Kramer's work, I promised myself to keep the love affair hush hush, as her pricey gems are hard to come across which equals an extra zero on the tag... But after receiving my first piece from a near and dear friend, it was time to explore and share the inspiring work of the artist known as ELKE.

The Australian native infuses her travels to 7Th world wonders with brave and balanced formation. Her spring 2011 line focuses on her journey through the Far East, titled "The Shake of Ophelia" which she collaborated with (a personal fav) photographer Chris Morris. Her pieces embody beetroot, bloodstone, ash, jasper, and knotted patterns. The collection's story focuses on the life of a traveling spice merchant in Africa (below). Her extremely popular Trompe L’oeil range (2008) combined an unlikely family of chunky resin shapes, geometric art-deco inspired pattern, traditional tribal aesthetics, and even hand stitched elements (above).

The pieces are masculine, graceful, and fearless.

22

I found a lemon on my path today
I tucked it into my pocket for you
The little lemon seeped its sugar into my denim
As I passed the food bank and the church
Over and down the merciless hills of San Francisco
Until I reached rest in which I retrieved the fruit
And found it to be plastic.



Reflecting on a year of absolute change: when I thought it couldn't get any harder, it would. When I thought I couldn't push myself any further, I did. When I thought I was too tired to work harder, I found strength. When I thought I couldn't be happier- I was. The old me thought by 23 I should be so much further down the roads of success and now that I am approaching it, I find success in the present. I am thankful I have novels to learn and lands to discover, as this world has more to see than the span of one's existence- I look forwarding to aging wisely.

Photo credit, one of my favorite photographers, Morgan Maasen.

Vitamin D

Majestic, rolling coastlines filled with scents of salt and rich soils. The southern vicinity of California offers more than Royce's and collagen injections. I found my sun burnt toes dragging to the airport, leaving what felt like my long lost home.








Personnel highlights between the land of Venice beach and Newport beach...
Minnie T's boutique, The Angeleno at Intelligentsia Coffee, grub and shopping at The Camp and the Long Beach flea market.

Text+ure

Leather, stone and silk dyes. I'm not a fan of hues other than black, but these colors bring out a muted spring, magnificently.

Photo courtesy: Kelly Wearstler, Anica boutique, Snug.

A Place to Land

Simon Emmet


Daniel Weiss


Oliver Rath

Marie Olsson Nylander

Adieu 2010

Image the diabetic being handed their favorite tray of glucose coated sugar bon-bons or the Jewish man's plate filled with delicate sliced pieces of pork that squeal non-kosher: this is the holiday season to me. I call it my favorite holiday, yet I fear its annual arrival of stress, time and money jingles. On the verge of sounding cliche, every Christmas I look forward to being with my family. Being raised to praise the lord on his birthday didn't feel as sentimental as drinking eggnog around an Oregon fur log on fire while shredding clearance wrapping paper to reveal my newest/greatest pajama set. The three folk that make up my family are always so understanding of my disappointment or over excitement of a gift.

This year being my first year away from them brought on a dark blue black dark grey cloud of sadness: I was going to be steaming silk dresses, serving whiskey sours and delivering office mail for Christmas. Worst part- I thought this was an okay way to spend a holiday. Thanks to a friend who I have considered family for the majority of our friendship, this sad supplement was quickly thrown out and homeward bound I went, just in time to curl up with two fluffy lap dogs and have a piece or two of beyond mouthwatering pumpkin pie.

Christmas gleamed brighter this year than ever before for me, as a time of self understanding and love (thank you Ken). Getting to see where I came from and who granted me the buoyancy I have in my current swim was the greatest gift of all. Last night I was walking through the down poor of a San Francisco storm, attempting to drink my americano at a hour unsuitable for coffee while wondering if my boots were worth keeping on as they now were two tiny bath tubs. Each time I went to sip the cup, the rain water collected on top of the lid poured into my mouth. I laughed and kept laughing as I felt like a soggy lost soul walking to a bus that I later found out is no longer in service. All I had aside from Ray LaMontagne on my iPod was my mind. I retreated to my Christmas break and the time to come in Oregon and the stories I have gathered in California. I thought of him, the person that makes me smile before I have opened my eyes in the morning and of her, my best friend who is beginning a new life of prosperity and health. With the simple reminder of what makes me pulse, I was warm and dry, capable of crossing any puddle between the sidewalk and myself. A noteworthy close to 2010 to what I hope to be a "paragraph worthy" 2011.

Table No. 9

She asked for another one and made sure it was the biggest glass she could get.
She slid her pale fingertips into the soggy cardboard box and pulled out the ninth cigarette of this hour.
"Long day?" I asked.
"Long life" She replied.

Patience, now a verb.

I almost forgot about my soul while searching for something instantaneous. A recent discussion with a life long companion hit home for me. I explained to Kyle the similarities between life and running and how he and I should learn from our previous experiences. The life side of this analogy is two twenty (and some change) year old kids attempting to get our best foot in the door (his being a Sperry), find a hand worth holding, possibly a residence large enough for our macs and basil gardens- and a growing numerical number attached to our Visas. Being ex-captains of our sporting teams, prom king/queen as well as past school presidents, an actualization was clouding our heads of when the grand scheme of post college life was going to fall into place like our childhoods once had.

A runner's race is pure strategy and commitment. It is trusting in the training you have done; the long hours and conditioning to mold a body and mind willing to perform. This was when I realized that similar to life, starting the race at a full sprint and wanting to hit the finish line before the first mile marker was no way to earn your blue ribbon. Upon telling him this there was a understanding in the telephone wire that we were both pushing for something that is coming and quite possibly unreachable until life's route says so. If I could list the tangent job searching I have gone on the past five months I would want to burn it in disbelief of my inconsistency. Like a swimmer who feels the loss of buoyancy, they panic and begin to dog paddle. This was me forgetting that in order to float one must relax and believe in their own abilities. I started out this race thinking there would be a finish line in the forecast- something to measure any ounce of success. It has become apparent to me that there will not be a finish line as the journey itself will provide all the satisfaction necessary. Let us be patient and keep sailing.

And then there was one.

Until this fall, I could count the number of taxi's I've hailed in my life. I have officially lost accuracy of goofy jumping expressions, arm flailing and intoxicated stumbles on a curb for the yellow submarines. In the midst of the (hopefully) short rides, I always manage to strike up a conversation with my lucky (20% tipper) driver. Most of it is small talk like, how is the night? What's the score of the Giants game? What is your name and where are you from? One driver hauling me from an interview to the next that I had 5 seconds to get to, informed me that no matter how bad a day may be- "it ain't as bad as that guys" (pointing to a homeless man screaming at a brick wall). This advice stuck with me.

But this weekend- a ride that left me mentally exhausted and emotionally confused. The cab driver came from the middle east in the 90's. He left behind his family and friends to make a living and decided within the first 10 years here that he wanted a middle eastern wife... so like all wants and needs- he ordered one.

His wife and him now have 4 children and he "sometimes talks to her when they must." There was no "dating" as we Americans call it. He did not choose a thing except for her arrival. I may have been riding the gin train but I could hear in each syllable this man's sadness. Not admitting to any further depression, he stated his life and wife are okay as the sedan continued to crawl along the dim streets.

As a young adult, more so female... this everyday occurring cultural process does not even come to mind as to where will I end up. Do I want my coffee hot or cold today? Do I prefer to walk or ride a bike to work? Do I give the last quarter in my pocket to this person or put my head down in ignorance?

I can't say I've ever looked at my left hand ring finger as a piece of ownership or real estate...

For some it is just a ride. For me, it is a 10 minute chance to learn more about the symphony called culture.

Make It A Double

The Two Gallants, a title referring to the story Dubliners (James Joyce)- functions as much more than the original that inspired the band. The book it references focuses on Ireland's national identity quest, marking a historical period in the early 20th century. The band's music could correlate to this as it is a quest of two gentlemen from San Francisco possibly writing their own chapter in musical history. Adam Stephans and Tyson Vogel formed Two Gallants in 2002 and have been writing music together from childhood. When I first opened ears to the kind chords strummed by the young men, my attention surrendered to what it was they wanted to tell me. The vocals are full of distinction, death and love. At first sound, it may rub you differently than any other indie rock melodia. I think this is what makes Two Gallants gifted. Two humans, one sound- and a lot of work to get their current tour on the road with another favorite artist, Blitzen Trapper. Lead vocalist Adam's sui generis coax of the mic is one that sticks in your head long after you take the ear buds off when you get to work. Judging by the stories that unravel in the lyrics, we the listener may have a thing or two to learn from Two Gallants. And if the words don't get you, the harmonica will.


And a night-cap-glance at photos from the 2010 Hardly Stricken Blue Grass Festival...

I Cut Like A Buffalo

"To live in this world, you must be able to do three things: to love what is mortal; to hold it against your bones knowing your own life depends on it; and, when the time comes to let it go, to let it go."


Jack White- keep it coming....

Bon Iver and a Boy

The lyrics of your life should paint a visual masterpiece. I recently met a person-and realized upon a smile that there was a part of my spontanious, independent life that required sharing. We shall see what type of orchestra can come from this two member band...

And on to Bon Iver... quite possibly this decades most talented folk artist that glues eery rifts to prismatic melodies. Songs are few and far between (roughly thirteen tracks in two years) making each track a true delicacy to savor each note. Bon Iver translates to "good winter" relating to the albums writing and recording of "For Emma, Forever Ago" which primarily took place in the woods of Wisconsin. The band consists of artists Michael Noyce, Sean Carey, and Matthew McCaughan.


Listen and possibly be liberated.