Easter Feast

Yoga, farmer's market, afternoon drizzle, feast with dear friends.

Celebrating the joys of spring.

 

Nightmare

Good Friday

Head-clearing hike

Satellite

Sticks and I spend a lot of time in this cozy 1920s office.  In the past two years we've developed more than scripts here, we've fostered relationships.  At times the red chair occupied by writers is more like a shrink's couch.  Confessions and fears are as readily shared and examined, as story lines.  Tears have even been shed.  This cocoon has been our haven, a place where our dreams have spun.  In a month we need to move out.  The space has been sold, and it is time for us to move on.  Doors close, doors open.

Change

Had the perfect desert weekend.  The shift from cooler shorter winter days, to the warmth of imminent summer has occurred.  My brother is embarking on a big adventure, moving to a city up the coast to start a new business.  Thus, it was fitting to spend one more weekend in the desert, a place we have gone countless times in the last decade to relax, celebrate, entertain and renovate. 

Many people in my life are in the middle of sizable transitions -- geographical shifts, changes in relationship status, new jobs.  I'm definitely feeling the impact, as if the earth is slowly swirling beneath my feet.  Nothing seems permanent or stable.  A part of me grieves what was, yet I greet change with open arms.  I too am in transition, outcome unknown, but I'm all for jumping on this bandwagon.

Sunday Hike

Wisteria

For days, on a well traveled route, this blooming Wisteria has caught my eye.  It makes me smile, conscience the seasons are changing, and in awe of the annual ritual of rebirth.  I've been wanting to photograph it, but I'm often rushing to or from somewhere.  Today, I tossed my schedule out the window, and paused to document the spectacular petals.  Ah, spring.

A Year to Think

 The short films at A YEAR TO THINK always pack punch.  They are beyond thought provoking, they are evocative.  This one left me with melancholia -- that fleeting, perfect moment.  Often recognized in retrospect, but every now and then captured in the present. 

Solitude

Desperately seeking solitude.

Many ways to find solace in quiet hours --

baking, napping, reading

being still in the ever changing light

Rumi

Don’t turn away.

Keep looking at the bandaged place.

That’s where the light enters you.

Rumi

The Sorrows of An American

 

Not nearly as good as Siri Hustvedt's novel What I Loved, but this contempalative story had moments which resonated with me.

Ritual

Most nights Monkey sleeps at my feet, but in the morning he stirs,

stretches and struts towards me

until he's at my side.

Hooks his paw over my arm

and rests his head on my shoulder,

purring himself back to sleep.

Sunlight

An extra hour of sunlight makes the heart shine brighter.

Saturday Night Collaboration

Rain Clouds

Marina Abramovic: The Artist is Present

Excellent documentary on HBO about performance artist Marina Abramovic's 2010 retrospective at Moma.  The highlight of the exhibit, and primary focus of the film, was a new, original work entitled The Artist is Present.  For three months, 750  hours, Abramovic sat in a wooden chair and invited anyone to sit across from her.  No words spoken, but many emotions were exchanged between the artist and her guests.  In a world of chaos and short attention spans, time in the atrium with Marina slowed down.   Communication was reduced to eye contact, and the connection powerful.  The artist greeted each guest with a raw honesty and vulnerability, and the response was equally moving.

shoes

Photography

It’s estimated that roughly 380 billion photographs are taken in the world each year — more photos per day than in the entire first 100 years after the invention of photography.  Wow!

Dinner Party

Went to a delightful dinner party in a spectacular with house with dramatic views, and had a humorous exchange with a very mature 9 year old.  Struggling with sibling conflict she told me about her younger sister's annoying habits, sneezing, farting and snoring.  The remedy was to give them separate rooms.  Although privacy earned, she claimed her space is tiny, "the size of four storage closets."  Her evil wish was for her sister to miraculously age, and leave home for college in the very near future, giving her a much needed break.  During dinner she intermittently spoke French to her father, French being her native tongue.  She was also proficient in Spanish, Lebanese and Mandarin.  I inquired about her favorite language and she broke out in a pitch perfect Southern drawl. She transformed into a character from a Tennessee Williams play, and declared, "butter my butt and called me biscuit."  How do you top that?