Jacob in the rain. Photo by famous Mamarazzi photographer Alexandra Hanson-Harding
I get home from the little round of errands–the drugstore, the craft store (my friend Shelley and I are going to have a kick butt adventure tonight people: we are going to learn to Cro-SHAY. Oh yeah. We are craft mad women who are going to take over the world one crochet stitch at a time
) to buy a size H HOOK and this and that, and what do I see in the back 40? Why it is the shirtless Jacob, standing nonchalantly in the pouring rain.
“Oh! Oh!” I say, in the manner I have been saying such things ever since he’s been doing one kind of odd or naughty thing since forever (and since he is very gifted in quirkiness, this is quite often), “Let me get the camera!”
“MOMMMMM,” he says sternly. “Can’t a guy enjoy the rain without putting up with the MAMMARAZZI?”
The only answer was “Click.”
Writing Prompt: And what would you photographtoday?
Did you ever notice how many blogposts use the word “insane”? I definitely want a piece of that action! Anyway, I went to Le Grande Pomme today to go see another damn doctor. This one is so far on the East Side that I swear to the great Goddess I was halfway into Queens. So I thought I would share the ramble with you, because New York is just fabulous piled on insanely fabulous, even when it’s cold, rainy and getting dark.
chairs outside a barber shop in NYC.
Barber shop, NYC
bike rider in the rain, NYC
Shoe fixing shop. NYC
More insanity to come!
Writing Prompt: What impression did you get of NY from these pictures? What do you think of New York in general?
Guess what my latest masterpiece means and you will win a prize. Of some sort. I’m sure.
When you have a lot of important stuff to do, like putting dishes in the dishwasher, researching hideous diseases you might (probably) have, or writing down “Call Linoleum Guy about Thursday,” (because unfortunately the not-yet-researched disease is unlikely to do away with one BEFORE Thursday) sometimes you just gotta woman up, get out the markers, and go to town in your sketchbook. As you can see, Ms. AHH is using a number of classic thematic elements, such as the blue flowers common to Iznik pottery (I should know what they are called), mandalas, eyes, snakes (love drawing snakes), pyramids, suns, dots, bricks with what looks like a creepy pair of eyes in them, dots, stripes, teardrops and raindrops, xs and os, what looks like a game of tic tac toe kind of, and many other things that add up to um, a battle between the Apollonian and the Dionysian elements of life? Yes, indeed, I’m sure that’s exactly what it means, and I’m the artist, so I should know. But actually, art is not for the artist alone. It is a dance between the artist and viewer/critic. Writers can blab everything they want about their art, their horrible childhoods and everything else. But the artist must remain mute, or at least cryptic, and let the dance of interpretation begin. For the moment one puts one’s art out into the world, it belongs to the world, too. Especially when one puts it on the freaking INTERNET. So, friends, interpret away.
Writing Prompt: What’s a piece of art that just pulls you in?
I wanted to share a little bit more about why I felt so deeply affected by the LIRR massacre that I was sobbing and holding on tight to Mi Kyung’s, and now Mi Won’s friend Juey at last night’s movie viewing. Mi Kyung Kim was one of the six who were murdered on the 5:33 train, and I was Mi Won’s boss. I watched this young woman, tiny and beautiful, become as strong as steel while at the same time, searching for the joy in life. Yesterday, for example, she insisted that we try some of the delicacies at the Madison Square food festival and have little bits of this and that. We sat at a table under large umbrellas where we ate treats such as curried chicken empanadas and a dessert she specifically wanted me to try–an, I hope I remember correctly, arrancini? It was an Italian-style rice ball, but this one was filled with Nutella and dusted with cinnamon sugar. Delicious. Of course. Rain was pouring down, but we didn’t care–we talked and talked. And then, there was another unusual market she’d heard about in Tribeca, so we hopped on the subway and dashed downtown before the movie premier, drank tea, and met up with her friend Juey. I love going out with Mi Won because she loves adventures and sometimes eating a single meal can involve going to four places, each for something different–maybe soup dumplings, or rice pudding, or to Beecher’s Cheese on 20th Street where they make their own cheese in plain view of the customers in large metal vats. “You command, I obey,” I tell her when we go on these outings. They are never disappointing. As I sat near her yesterday, and saw her eyes glittering with tears (feeling faintly jealous because I never saw anyone cry so beautifully–no red cheeks, runny nose, or any of that nonsesnse) on film, a thought came to my mind, one that I haven’t yet asked her. I wondered if a little taste of every delicious experience she has is dedicated to Mi Kyung, if there isn’t a little part of her that isn’t offering up the gift of joyful life, a life that must not be wasted, to her sister. I must confess that I feel a little bit of that toward Mi Kyung, and also toward the thousands of people whose ashes were scattered in our hair when we worked downtown after 9/11, as the fires burned for months. When I am with Mi Won, I sometimes feel not just alive, but FIERCELY alive. Watching her suffer was–has been–still is–terrible, and yet her incredible strength of character, her will, her courage, make me think I am blessed to have such a friend, to remind me of the beauty in our problematic, difficult, unsafe and fragile world.