31 March 2010

Hazy light, hazy bright, special delivery by morn or night

Slow & easy


Last night, after second Seder, I started planning the menu for my next party. On the menu thus far: pastries with mascarpone cream with macerated strawberries and mint. Its nearly time for night-working, open windows, fresh flowers, Coltrane.

30 March 2010

This week, character

swan lake by roger wood, 1956

After the Seder, where we were mysteriously served an entire endive on the Seder plate rather than the traditional parsley for karpas (I was wondering if we'd have macarons instead of macaroons), I went to Maxine Swann's house in Fort Greene, where I spend Mondays greening my thumb.

29 March 2010

Only daughter, only daughter: set a glass of cold water on the credenza


I've got a job to do today: transmit a place, gone for 17 years now. My grandmother's apartment had a closet of crystal, a hall of mirrors, a faint lingering of cigarettes, and packs of Trident original gum.

28 March 2010

Sixty-nine years ago, when the terribles had just begun

Tuesday.

Dearest,

I feel certain that I am going mad again. I feel we can't go through another of those terrible times. And I shan't recover this time. I begin to hear voices, and I can't concentrate. So I am doing what seems the best thing to do. You have given me the greatest possible happiness. You have been in every way all that anyone could be. I don't think two people could have been happier till this terrible disease came. I can't fight any longer. I know that I am spoiling your life, that without me you could work. And you will I know. You see I can't even write this properly. I can't read. What I want to say is I owe all the happiness of my life to you. You have been entirely patient with me and incredibly good. I want to say that - everybody knows it. If anybody could have saved me it would have been you. Everything has gone from me but the certainty of your goodness. I can't go on spoiling your life any longer.

I don't think two people could have been happier than we have been.

V.

26 March 2010

Golden Lion


Cy Twombly, American painter, is the first living artist whose work adorns the ceiling of the Louvre since Georges Braque had the honor in 1953. Mr. Twombly punctuates his melange of moons and shields in orbit, set against a Giotto-blue night sky, with the names of seven Greek artists of antiquity, whose work is represented in the Salle des Bronzes. Mr. Twombly, 80, knows we are new beings born of old matter.

25 March 2010

Custom, uncustomary

My latest custom work, for the nuptials of a cowboy & Indian princess. Jezebel offers a range of custom services- all Jezebel imagery can be customized by design and color for invitations and personal correspondence. Let's chat. Ring me at jezebel@ilovejezebel.com. (invitation also seen on East Side Bride)

24 March 2010

Manners and responsibilty

our home, photo frm alice engel + his rehearsal space, photo frm jeremy

Wear your suit proudly.

23 March 2010

Sense of Place

Last night I began growing a garden, of sorts. I water it every Monday in Fort Greene. One day, I'll tell you more about it.

19 March 2010

Jezebel for Earl Greyhound

Working on the latest Jezebel for Earl Greyhound tee shirt - Suspicious Package is in stores on April 13, a day meant for champagne and new records, and who knows what else.

18 March 2010

Colonials


I'm writing this last night, and thanks to last last night, I feel neither pithy nor wise. Here I am, typing in a bed full of love, and there I go, off to watch The World of Suzie Wong.

17 March 2010

Night is nice


While most shrimps inspire love, affection, and dreams of tv series & costume extravaganzas, most shrimps do not inspire demi-parures. My girl is a muse.

16 March 2010

Roots and lies and love


And now that I know her reasons for writing so lovingly the story of the 100 lady inkers and painters, "the white-gloved esprit de corps" who "work(ed) from dawn to dusk on thousands of cels that brought his dreams to life," I quietly think, "Where will I find the story?"

"...there were never more charming assembly-line cogs than inkers and painters, in their rayon print dresses, pearls, and heels, or the high-waisted, flared pants and slip-ons that Katharine Hepburn had made fashionable. Their makeup was perfect, too—drawing a fine line around their eyes and lips was easy compared with refining the taper in Pluto’s tail. Occasionally, the Camera department would complain that dandruff or angora from a sweater would appear “like snow on the screen,” and thus silky pongee smocks eventually became common to avoid mishap. Yet the defining touch may have been the thin, white cotton gloves they customized by cutting off the thumb and first two fingers on their working hand, which made them appear so ladylike." Coloring the Kingdom, Patricia Zohn

Snow White here, and here, and here, too.

15 March 2010

"Beware the ides of March."


The port side of the car I drive was squashed today. I hope that Mars the God has been indifferent to you today.

My castle, my books.


When one find's oneself passing an evening in a house not far from the ocean, lit only by candlelight, with chandeliers rattling and shaking, and trees dropping angrily, there seems nothing wiser to do than haul book out of bag, and begin The Deptford Trilogy from the beginning.

12 March 2010

Tribal songs

frm Ensuite

When the deepest parts of us, the broken bits, the stuff we thought we'd lost, comes washing up the shores in a torrent of foam and fluff, I marvel to see how quickly it untangles itself. The wave that tumbles with such urgency, such force, becomes a perfect, slick fine layer of memory, appearing and disappearing in a moment, leaving behind a shadow of it's visit.

We spoke last night of Michael Haneke and Europe, and who the schoolchildren of 1918 grew up to be. We spoke of elder care and a birthright, and world-class cities: Paris, New York, Tokyo, London. We sat in a dark corner, with our chopsticks, one from here, one from there, and elegized that which we had, that which is still here, that which we can never get back.

11 March 2010

On a leash in Barcelona, led round by my leopard.


My girl, Teepee, showing off her bedroom slipper paws. (photo by Rony)

10 March 2010

"Monuments they sway"


I woke up this morning with a perfectly aligned idea for what I was going to share with you this day. I have since forgotten half, which I don't normally do (in this particular aspect of my life) and I've been running up and down the corners of my mind trying to find it.

I've been lurking, looking for a story.

Imagine being found, 47 years later, confronted with a letter you had written and sent to a Castle who had lost its Prince.

“The lights of the prison have gone out now,” wrote Stephen J. Hanrahan, Prisoner 85255, from a federal penitentiary in Atlanta. “In this, the quiet time, I can’t help but feel, that my thoughts and the thoughts of my countrymen will ever reach out to that light on an Arlington hillside for sustenance. How far that little light throws his beam.”

09 March 2010

My castle, my books.


Just finishing André Gide's Madeleine, a slender text which manages to challenge assumed notions of the boundaries of love. Still puzzling over the sultry bedheaded woman on the cover, as this is decidedly not a celebration of female sexuality.

08 March 2010

The power under things & the beauty of what we've got.


Teepee is getting in the last gasps of a 12 hour snooze fest. When she rises we are going to take a long, long stroll and air the creakiness and mustiness out of winter bound bones. Errands include a quick visit to a local establishment where I'll prowl for something black, long, and sheer.

05 March 2010

Beyond the stone fruits

I'm not feeling too terrific this morning, and a long weekend of guests and shows approaches. I'm off to work. I'd rather lay in bed with Teepee and listen to Patti Smith read from Just Kids. Since I can't, maybe you can. Except the Teepee part. I'm sorry, you'll have to find your own large zucchini-sized dog to snuggle.

04 March 2010

A night not in Paris


Teepee's teacher came over for a refresher course last night and my god, I love watching the wheels in her tiny brain turn. Later, in bed, love of mine responded to a matter I was taking too to heart by querying if there were resident aliens biding time in my nose. So what if there were.

03 March 2010

Gauntlets can be golden, too

our helter skelter kitchen, photo by Alice Engel

I ended the day richer in heart than I had begun. I spoke, you answered. A new swan arrived and it spreads its wings and lifts its neck in the most magical fashion, and a stack of books, and I spent some time with Robin. New jewels, new chances, and a new nook that I'm crafting for myself. I should say today will be grand, particularly if I can manage my caffeination to the precise point of mild, controlled euphoria.

02 March 2010

Considering, Act II.

Some days, swaggering through is the answer, propelled by a feeling of motion & weightlessness. Other days feel anchored and slackened by the enormity of the most practical & mundane corners of what we do not know. I've been feeling the desire to cut cords and swim off, say goodbye to things that nibble inside of my brain, the things that I now know I am bad at. I wish I studied Art History, I wish I kept better books.

Remember in college, when girls bandied about the idea of moonlighting as nude models? Some girls actually did what others just talked about.

01 March 2010

In the event you are a billionaire's baby, born in March


I've picked out some jewels for you from 1st Dibs, featuring your birthstone, the aquamarine. Let me know which one you get.

"the stars are real and furious and gorgeous...You like his dialogue? I like your shoes. What of the soul?"

On genius, snapped from the comments field of the New Yorker. Has me thinking of Toni Morrison's letter of endorsement of Barack Obama, which has me thinking Willowfog (decidedly a he to me) should be writing above the dotted line. As another commenter put it: "I found Willowfog's comments to be closer in spirit to Salinger than anything else I've read on his passing. In fact, I kind of feel like Willowfog is Buddy Glass."