country

"where the pavement ends" and other biz

Just a quick note of gratitude: thank you to the fine editors at Cerise Press for featuring my photo essay "Where Pavement Ends" in its Spring 2013 issue. You can find it here. They used my work as a cover shot as well. It's an international art journal based in France and the U.S.

I continue my interest in rural life and culture working on a documentary project, "The B Roads," as I have it titled now. Here's a sneak peak...this is my opening shot at the moment.

The photo editing is going slow as life/work interferes. At some point long stretches of mind semblance for continuity and aesthetic streaming will come...or whatever the hell I'm trying to say. I mean, life is busy and I get small stretches of time to work on it. Though, it does excite me. Time enters that void and I disappear....I hope you all find an activity where time washes away and you stop "thinking" about conscious thinking. For example, Mr. Guy is in his studio making furniture so I know that is where some men gather steam to live creatively.

Thanks for reading once again and for your support. Go do something nice for yourself: think simple. Off to pop a cold one from the frig. And sleep on good smelling clean bedsheets...it's the simple stuff, ya.

staying away from the curtain

The cabin has no curtains. Wolf pack, get a load of all this. Wet head out of shower. Morning hair tucked under Burton beanie. Yoga pants + leg warmers. What a treat. An artist needs time to hear the onslaught of creative whispers worth mapping out. I once heard an artist say, Don't look behind the curtain (i.e., don't get bogged down in what others are doing). Keep doing what you're doing no matter what. Here I go.

A little space to call a haven for...something...paltry sketches, I suppose, and other maneuvers of spirited quests. No complaints here. A mouse friend likes tea here, too, I found out. We said hello one morning in the kitchen.

inkblot friday: no 2. seeing what you don't see


 I remember standing in R Lounge, Studio City, one night with my friends. One was getting lit and talking about her cheating husband and how it was okay to cheat back to get back. The energy of the conversation, the loud music, my aching feet—dammit high heels are not comfortable—was getting to my head. In and out of the night, my mind kept going to a different place, Moab (and the world's largest rope swing), a place I wanted to return.  There I was bantering about relationships, while thinking of red rock in a dark bar in a bullshit dress. So goes the idea that what you see is NOT what you get. Happy Inkblot Friday, people of the world.

P.S. I don't own this dress. Olivia Newton John might have though.

























flashback: a banter on temperature

He builds a fire. We're in the high wilderness. Haven't seen anybody. Sun is almost down.
"It's going to get cold tonight, uh?" I say.
"Yip."
We're at 10,000 feet.
"Aren't you cold?" I ask him.
Him: wearing cargo shorts and a t-shirt standing on one side of the fire.
Me: wearing layers, hands deep in my pockets, and standing on the other side of the fire.
"I'm tired of you being cold," he says.
"I'm tired of you being hot," I say.
We both look in silence at each other. Smile.

To my surprise: he heated up this rock + stuck it into my mummy bag for a good night's sleep of warmth. Awesome hot rock therapy!