Thursday, January 12, 2012
I just had the scariest nightmare of the me in the painting strangling me woke up this morning really stressed about a blue ghosty pale Andrea lol. I think I'm resentful at being made vulnerable. Scared the person I made it for doesn't really understand or appreciate, scared of the version of me that's normally hidden. I hate being vulnerable, someone once said its like taking off your armor on a battlefield and walking up to your opponent with closed eyes and open hands... Or something. I thought about not giving it away, but it's worse to keep it to myself. and I don't want to look at it right now or think about keepin it in my apartment. I love it though. But it's too Dorian gray for me, in the regurgitation of what's inside, the very act of examining yourself can freak you out.
Wednesday, January 11, 2012
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_NHkv0S1NEA
commit to living and being weird and passionate or you might as well die.
This is love. Not two people who have only known each other or who are drawn together in a single line.
It's out of a sea of faces, two people who's eyes meet and can't stop looking.
Brunch with charles n clement at Doma Sunday
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iga9z7Sy-pI&feature=youtube_gdata_player
There was a girl named Beatrice who didn't know who she was exactly or what she wanted when this angel saw her. He watched over her from a distance and eventually after a long time they got together. Angels aren't supposed to get with humans, they're a different species meant for a different purpose. But they can become anything they want and are so beautiful if they want to be Beatrice didn't have much choice in the matter. She knew from her childhood that their children would be half human half angel, giants, hercules, and cyclops were of this breed. And that an angel who was with a human was cast out of heaven, fallen. He wouldn't be her guardian angel anymore. Love isn't just a feeling, it's knowing all this and perhaps falling anyway.
Beatrice from Dante's inferno who leads him and is his muse in his journey through purgatory and hell.
In a past life I was my mother. In my earliest photos of her she's like I am now.. 23 with a straight backbone and a set idea of what to do. With eyes closed on the subway, I imagine the worst. But isn't the imagined always better? Both my mother and me in my head.
I got my new fridge in finally. I put in an order a while back, there was nothing wrong with my old fridge but it opened the wrong way. And the one before that, my original fridge, was old and not up to date. So finally while I'm on break I get a call from my super saying the fridge finally is in. When I come back from texas there it is sitting in the hallway like a locked out boyfriend. Last time I'd gone home for Christmas the year before, I'd interviewed for a job and while at home found out I got it and could start when I came back to new York. So like the new job I installed it today and it fits well and is brand new. A psychic my friend katy and I encountered in soho late at night said id be with my soulmate in January.
commit to living and being weird and passionate or you might as well die.
This is love. Not two people who have only known each other or who are drawn together in a single line.
It's out of a sea of faces, two people who's eyes meet and can't stop looking.
Brunch with charles n clement at Doma Sunday
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iga9z7Sy-pI&feature=youtube_gdata_player
There was a girl named Beatrice who didn't know who she was exactly or what she wanted when this angel saw her. He watched over her from a distance and eventually after a long time they got together. Angels aren't supposed to get with humans, they're a different species meant for a different purpose. But they can become anything they want and are so beautiful if they want to be Beatrice didn't have much choice in the matter. She knew from her childhood that their children would be half human half angel, giants, hercules, and cyclops were of this breed. And that an angel who was with a human was cast out of heaven, fallen. He wouldn't be her guardian angel anymore. Love isn't just a feeling, it's knowing all this and perhaps falling anyway.
Beatrice from Dante's inferno who leads him and is his muse in his journey through purgatory and hell.
In a past life I was my mother. In my earliest photos of her she's like I am now.. 23 with a straight backbone and a set idea of what to do. With eyes closed on the subway, I imagine the worst. But isn't the imagined always better? Both my mother and me in my head.
I got my new fridge in finally. I put in an order a while back, there was nothing wrong with my old fridge but it opened the wrong way. And the one before that, my original fridge, was old and not up to date. So finally while I'm on break I get a call from my super saying the fridge finally is in. When I come back from texas there it is sitting in the hallway like a locked out boyfriend. Last time I'd gone home for Christmas the year before, I'd interviewed for a job and while at home found out I got it and could start when I came back to new York. So like the new job I installed it today and it fits well and is brand new. A psychic my friend katy and I encountered in soho late at night said id be with my soulmate in January.
Tuesday, January 03, 2012
Age of Silence/ Language of Hands
“The first language humans had was gestures. There was nothing primitive about this language that flowed from people’s hands, nothing we say now that could not be said in the endless array of movements possible with the fine bones of the fingers and wrists. The gestures were complex and subtle, involving a delicacy of motion that has since been lost completely.
During the Age of Silence, people communicated more, not less. Basic survival demanded that the hands were almost never still, and so it was only during sleep (and sometimes not even then) that people were not saying something or other. No distinction was made between the gestures of language and the gestures of life. The labor of building a house, say, or preparing a meal was no less an expression than making the sign for I love you or I feel serious. When a hand was used to shield one’s face when frightened by a loud noise something was being said, and when fingers were used to pick up what someone else had dropped something was being said; and even when the hands were at rest, that, too, was saying something. Naturally, there were misunderstandings. There were times when a finger might have been lifted to scratch a nose, and if casual eye contact was made with one’s lover just then, the lover might accidentally take it to be the gesture, not at all dissimilar, for Now I realize I was wrong to love you. These mistakes were heartbreaking. And yet, because people knew how easily they could happen, because they didn’t go round with the illusion that they understood perfectly the things other people said, they were used to interrupting each other to ask if they’d understood correctly. Sometimes these misunderstandings were even desirable, since they gave people a reason to say, Forgive me, I was only scratching my nose. Of course I know I’ve always been right to love you. Because of the frequency of these mistakes, over time the gesture for asking forgiveness evolved into the simplest form. Just to open your palm was to say: Forgive me."
"If at large gatherings or parties, or around people with whom you feel distant, your hands sometimes hang awkwardly at the ends of your arms – if you find yourself at a loss for what to do with them, overcome with sadness that comes when you recognize the foreignness of your own body – it’s because your hands remember a time when the division between mind and body, brain and heart, what’s inside and what’s outside, was so much less. It’s not that we’ve forgotten the language of gestures entirely. The habit of moving our hands while we speak is left over from it. Clapping, pointing, giving the thumbs-up, for example, is a way to remember how it feels to say nothing together. And at night, when it’s too dark to see, we find it necessary to gesture on each other’s bodies to make ourselves understood.”
― Nicole Krauss, The History of Love
During the Age of Silence, people communicated more, not less. Basic survival demanded that the hands were almost never still, and so it was only during sleep (and sometimes not even then) that people were not saying something or other. No distinction was made between the gestures of language and the gestures of life. The labor of building a house, say, or preparing a meal was no less an expression than making the sign for I love you or I feel serious. When a hand was used to shield one’s face when frightened by a loud noise something was being said, and when fingers were used to pick up what someone else had dropped something was being said; and even when the hands were at rest, that, too, was saying something. Naturally, there were misunderstandings. There were times when a finger might have been lifted to scratch a nose, and if casual eye contact was made with one’s lover just then, the lover might accidentally take it to be the gesture, not at all dissimilar, for Now I realize I was wrong to love you. These mistakes were heartbreaking. And yet, because people knew how easily they could happen, because they didn’t go round with the illusion that they understood perfectly the things other people said, they were used to interrupting each other to ask if they’d understood correctly. Sometimes these misunderstandings were even desirable, since they gave people a reason to say, Forgive me, I was only scratching my nose. Of course I know I’ve always been right to love you. Because of the frequency of these mistakes, over time the gesture for asking forgiveness evolved into the simplest form. Just to open your palm was to say: Forgive me."
"If at large gatherings or parties, or around people with whom you feel distant, your hands sometimes hang awkwardly at the ends of your arms – if you find yourself at a loss for what to do with them, overcome with sadness that comes when you recognize the foreignness of your own body – it’s because your hands remember a time when the division between mind and body, brain and heart, what’s inside and what’s outside, was so much less. It’s not that we’ve forgotten the language of gestures entirely. The habit of moving our hands while we speak is left over from it. Clapping, pointing, giving the thumbs-up, for example, is a way to remember how it feels to say nothing together. And at night, when it’s too dark to see, we find it necessary to gesture on each other’s bodies to make ourselves understood.”
― Nicole Krauss, The History of Love
Monday, January 02, 2012
Sunday, January 01, 2012
photos: christmas to new years
Saw the ball about to drop in times square from the last plane to land at laguardia airport in 2011.
Family at shao mays (may's ice cream) dallas
saw this book (like) at anthropologie with brother sister and family friend
Family at shao mays (may's ice cream) dallas
saw this book (like) at anthropologie with brother sister and family friend
Monday, December 26, 2011
Saturday, December 24, 2011
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