now excuse me while I disappear
Monday, July 25, 2011
Friday, July 22, 2011
Thursday, July 21, 2011
Fuck Pretty
Actress Angela Featherstoneʼs first curated show, Fuck Pretty, is a collection of photographs by world-renowned and unknown women artists, whose work moves and inspires her. There are images from contemporary photographers Catherine Opie, Susan Meiselas, Tierney Gearon and equally important to the curator, an array of emerging artists, some of whose work the curator is proud to be showing for the very first time. The exhibit is accompanied by a musical score created by film composer Claudia Sarne (Book of Eli). The opening reception will be sponsored by Solomon Tournour, Co- producers of Rene Hand Crafted Alambic Rum and Svedka Vodka.
Artists: Anonymous, Sarah Baley, Sally Davies, Tierney Gearon, Sandy Gray, Naomi HarrisHana, JakrlovaSharon, Johnson-TennantSiri KaurGillian, LaubKristina, LoggiaLauren, Marsolier, Mary McCartney, Susan Meiselas, Catherine Opie, Alison Van Pelt, Cydney Puro, Marjorie Salvaterra, Jessica Shokria, Deanna Templeton
Exhibition: July 21, 2011 – August 20, 2011 Gallery Hours: 11-6, Tuesday – Saturday RSVP: 310-315-9506
Monday, July 18, 2011
Mindfulness is the aware...
"Mindfulness is the aware, balanced acceptance of the present experience. It isn’t more complicated than that. It is opening to or receiving the present moment, pleasant or unpleasant, just as it is, without either clinging to it or rejecting it."
Sylvia Boorstein
Friday, July 15, 2011
teenage phantasies
THE DAISY FOLLOWS SOFT THE SUN
by: Emily Dickinson (1830-1886)
HE daisy follows soft the sun,- And when his golden walk is done,
- Sits shyly at his feet.
- He, waking, finds the flower near.
- "Wherefore, marauder, art thou here?"
- "Because, sir, love is sweet!"
- We are the flower, Thou the sun!
- Forgive us, if as days decline,
- We nearer steal to Thee,--
- Enamoured of the parting west,
- The peace, the flight, the amethyst,
- Night's possibility!
- ****************
- This is no daisy, I know but neither am I.
- Her bloom is velvet and her limbs made of artificial plastic.
- Seemed she still reached for the light regardless.
Wednesday, July 6, 2011
under the stars and power lines
 |
Self Help
A chicken soup for the rainbow lover’s soul.
A chicken soup for the lover of chicken soup.
A carnage of birds, a devastation.
Chicken soup for the dried-up garden—
It’s been a lousy summer sucking us dry.
Chicken soup for the grocery list.
Chicken soup for unwanted potatoes.
Chicken soup for extinct animals.
In the west, the sun sets upon chicken soup.
With or without noodles or rice or barley,
Or vegetables—canned or otherwise—
Carrots and celery or egg drop chicken soup—
Chicken eggs, of course—or the alphabet
Or chili sauce. Chicken soup for chili lovers,
For the spicy soul. Chicken butchered
& boiled specifically for your cold.
A chicken soup for the cold soul,
A chicken soup for the sole of your shoe.
A chicken soup for decision making:
Does she love me? Or love me not?
Knots tied with chicken soup.
Chicken soup tied and sold in knots.
38 ways to tie your soup, to be tied.
Chicken soup for the protection of others.
A prayer to chicken soup, may it bring me
A winning lottery ticket. Chicken soup
For recovering alcoholics who still
Need hydration. A hydrangea’s
Chicken soup—to be loved like no other.
A chicken soup for Barry Bonds—
May he break Hank Aaron’s record.
Stick a pin in the chicken soup & bet
On its opponent. 30-Love. Match point.
A chicken soup for winners.
A chicken soup for losers.
Chicken soup for those who tie or draw.
The 60-plus occupations of soup.
Chicken for Sue, born in the year
Of the snake. The snake that ate
An alligator and died. They both died.
A chicken soup for the one who is eaten.
A chicken soup for the one who eats
Things other than chicken soup.
Transcending the bowl. A meta-bowl
Chicken soup for the transcended bowl.
Chicken soup for the transcending soup.
Chicken soup for the Marxist, steering
Away from values associated with heirarchies.
Chicken soup for the mud wrestler,
The roller derby queen. Chicken soup
For dairy queen, for the queen of hearts,
For Lady Di and the paparazzi,
For clean and dirty kings and queens.
For kiwis with wings, for the royal
Food pyramid. Chicken soup in
January, it’s so nice
To slip upon the sliding ice.
Saturday, July 2, 2011
Friday, July 1, 2011
releasing to the sound of keys
"A mountain keeps an echo deep inside. That's how I hold your voice."
— Rumi
"It is a way of saying
I want to be left without words,
to lose without comment.
How long am I going to talk
about what no longer is.
About her, who no longer is
seeing me write about her.
And with those eyes!
I too open them at night
and look at the silence
in the dark
where the portrait ends
without her getting to see it
and I think
and I think
and I think
about things like you
that appear to have
no date of expiration,
about your wanting to get home:
with the key prepared,
clinging to the taxi door,
letting yourself fall through your door
almost with the unsteady will
of an autumn leaf,
this kind of expiration,
and these eyes to golden tending
the ones you said in descriptions
were green. To look
at every occasion with kindly eyes
that no longer look at me,
though I remember them.
And now
I want to be left
without words. To know how to lose
what is being lost..."
to lose without comment.
How long am I going to talk
about what no longer is.
About her, who no longer is
seeing me write about her.
And with those eyes!
I too open them at night
and look at the silence
in the dark
where the portrait ends
without her getting to see it
and I think
and I think
and I think
about things like you
that appear to have
no date of expiration,
about your wanting to get home:
with the key prepared,
clinging to the taxi door,
letting yourself fall through your door
almost with the unsteady will
of an autumn leaf,
this kind of expiration,
and these eyes to golden tending
the ones you said in descriptions
were green. To look
at every occasion with kindly eyes
that no longer look at me,
though I remember them.
And now
I want to be left
without words. To know how to lose
what is being lost..."
*
"It was perfect pain:
speaking of her,
they spoke of themselves..."
Passages from a Portrait Ended by Mirta Rosenburg.
© 1998, Mirta Rosenberg
From: El Arte de Perder
Publisher: Bajo La Luna Nueva, Buenos Aires, 1998
© Translation: 2008, Julie Wark
speaking of her,
they spoke of themselves..."
Passages from a Portrait Ended by Mirta Rosenburg.
© 1998, Mirta Rosenberg
From: El Arte de Perder
Publisher: Bajo La Luna Nueva, Buenos Aires, 1998
© Translation: 2008, Julie Wark
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