I remember how it felt to stare out of the train window at an unusually blue-toned world. I've seen the blues of the Western World, but on that side of the Atlantic, blue has an entirely new identity. It felt like walking to the edge of the pier when no one else is around, lying on your back, and convincing yourself that the upside down perspective is the rightside up. It is not sadness that I feel when I remember that blue, but more so emptiness. Vastness. Sehnsucht.
While I am still working for free, I say a fervent FUCK YES to free shows on a Tuesday night. Thank you Kahlil for bringing me into your punk rock scene and for stamping my hand.
You made fun of me for crying during Forrest Gump on Thursday, but I'm not mad. My sister, my muse, my inspiration; I love you no matter what.
Impromptu photos with Dan in the rain.
I got to spend the day with my loves, Solly and Nikki (and Nikki's boyfriend, Pat). We stumbled upon one of my favorite bandos, the Ivex factory. Two hours of laughter weren't enough. I wish I could spend every day with you two.
What would Instagram be without feedback? This is a question that many of us should ask ourselves. We all love those validating likes and comments that make a photo worth posting. The meaning of a photo has been transformed in this medium. Julie and I want to strip the superficial, five-second-attention-span of the IG photo and take it back to its primitive roots.
One passage by René Magritte comes to mind:
"A painting hanging on the wall may be a disturbing factor; this disturbance is only superficial; it is caused by life; it is inevitable; fated; in the deepest sense it is order: law. There is nothing more peaceful than a plain surface, but the life of a good picture is more precious than the wall's silence. The train does not spoil the scenery."
Good photography demands reaction. Like the train that cuts across the landscape, it must cause some form of disturbance that transports the viewer to a psychologically significant place. Photos, or art for that matter, does not demand feedback. Photography should be something that happens to the viewer. Feedback is trivial to the power of the photo.
(I will make a point to say that we naturally enjoy feedback, but my point is that it is inessential to photography and should hold no importance when deciding whether a photo is "good" or not. The value is determined by the utility.)
Also, these photos are not good lol just including them because they were documented during the creative process.
Magritte inspired photoshoot with Neil.
Magritte inspired photoshoot with Mary.
During the moon's perigee, the tides are pulled by a stronger force of gravity. Today we gravitated toward one another, feeling the proximity of the moon. I am lucky to have this hobby that has introduced me to such wonderful people.
I met Nathan just over two years ago, and we have grown closer ever since. A friend that you can learn from is a friend worth having. Yesterday, we spent the day aimlessly roaming around Downtown Cleveland snapping photos of the pretty fall vibes and the City's photographic interiors. Nathan had never been to Severance Hall, and we were serendipitous to stumble upon a pianist practicing at a smaller stage. I really like the word "severance".
1. Glue pigeon wings to an analog clock and grab a group of strangers to cheer, "Fly! Fly! Fly!". This option is first due to its 49% success rate; other options might work better.
2. Build depressions in both the left and right sides of your brain for memories of your friends and family to rest in, but build bridges (stay away from Tacoma Narrows style failures) for them to freely travel between sides as they wish.
3. Drink chamomile tea, give it up, and start drinking it again
4. Walk down the same trails as often as possible, memorizing the landscapes so you can recognize when the crops change and disappear.
5. Collect wild blackberries; eat them fast.
6. Cover your windows with stray pieces of cloth in hopes of belying the true colors expressed by the sun (or a lack thereof).
7. Include dilatory tasks into a daily routine to strip them of their negative connotation. My favorite is organizing coins collected from various countries into piles, followed by turning them orthogonally to the table and counting the seconds that they can stand on their side.
8. Gain temerity. This is an important one.
9. Count the stamps in your passport, then count the number of windows between you and the outside.
10. Study René Magritte's "Young Girl Eating a Bird" and recognize the meaninglessness behind mystery.
11. Concilate the chips in your nails, the sticker ripping off of your water bottle, your short hair, broken headphones, the mosquito bite scars that cover your legs, all of the words in the dictionary that you may never know. Conciliate that home is inextricable.
12. Meditate on your computer calendar, occasionally lifting it to see what lies beneath.
Got me feeling hella mellow, ya dig? Amsterdam was way too insane for my taste. I'm staying in a smaller town called Leiden (thanks Dan), and it's much more of the attitude I prefer. The Netherlands appears to be constructed of tiny rivers and canals that pass through towns in infinitely expanding circles (or so it feels). The buildings are mostly brick, sometimes painted white, with the massive windows highlighted by pitch black or beet red. This place is hard to describe. It feels like it should always be autumn here. The Hague is fantastic, and discovering that their coffeeshops aren't really coffeeshops was a serendipitous surprise (thanks again Dan).
Today and I went to Pompidou and Palais du Tokyo. Woah. Pompidou has at least 4 galleries, each offering something completely different. Currently, René Magritte is being featured and... holy shit. I feel so inspired. He takes inspiration from classic philosophers like Pliny the Elder, and uses recurring motifs such as caves, curtains, and chairs. I much prefer philosophical art to political/social art. I relate to it more and find that I often share the artists' inspiration.
Palais du Tokyo was shocking. I read nothing about it beforehand, and went per recommendation of Nathan (thanks Nathan). Upon entering through a shade a beaded strings, you are greeted by a stranger who asks, "ce qui est l'énigme?", or in english, "what is the riddle?". Based on your response, they choose a direction to send you in. The lower level is a mostly empty warehouse with a male and female being intimate in slow motion in the middle of the room. There are various rooms to enter with different forms of light/sound performance art. The most interesting piece is about progress. You are greeted by a child who asks, "what is progress?". After a few minutes of talking with this child, who you are constantly walking with, you are passed off to a young adult who you will continue the conversation with, still walking. Next, you will engage in conversation with an adult and finally an old man. By the completion of the piece, you have walked through a number of rooms and down a staircase (I am guessing the downward motion symbolizes death). The old man left me with the maxim, "keep good company".
Most of these photos are from Montmartre/the 9th. It would be fun to walk around this area at night, but it feels dangerous.
My back hurts from my camera bag, and my feet hurt from walking miles and miles but DAMN it's worth it. Paris has too many secrets for me to discover in such little time.
Prague might make your eyes burn. The sky is usually cloudy but the buildings are bright white pastels. I was hosted by my good friend Karolina who I haven't seen since before she moved to Prague, over a year ago. It's nice to reconnect with people when the connection is easy and familiar. Karolina and Honza were great hosts and cooked gourmet style meals over the weekend.
Spent the day hiking the Black Forest and driving through it's smallest towns with my Mom.
I traveled 45 minutes by train in the wrong direction. Eric saw it as an opportunity to wander around and clear his head. We drank Czech beers, and I said my final auf wiedersehen to this city. Now, I am feeling a bit heartbroken. Too soon to say goodbye.
Like my sweet little pigeons, I must have been made anosmic, because the smell of Berlin felt totally novel (yet, somehow familiar). My nose smelled love before my brain made the connection. I must learn German, for real this time. I must come back. Berlin, your parties, your style, your architecture, your store fronts have captured me.
