Paper Flowers

I remember art & crafts class from when I was in grade school. It didn't happen all the time, but once a week or so, and everyone was given construction paper, glue, paper and colored pencils, markers, and crayons. I remember being not very good and wanting to be. I'd get bored and spread Elmer's glue on my hand and peel it off, liking the sensation of the cold glue drying and then becoming a thin dry surface to peel off. My Dad took me to an arts & crafts class once in the city too, and I got to use a bunch of cool stuff like pastels and water colors. But I didn't continue, and I focused on other things, like reading books and playing the piano, which I absolutely loved.

I started crafting again a couple years ago. What I've discovered is that my hands are now more steady, my attention more focused, the process more enjoyable. I light a candle or keep scented oil by me, put on some relaxing music, and begin. It's calming now. I think when I was young I had all these other thoughts in my head, especially about identity. Also, I was aware of being watched, or if I wasn't being watched I had a certain paranoia about making mistakes. This is what I'm trying to get at: when you're young, and your mind is cloudy with thoughts about yourself or other people or sadness or confusion for whatever reason, it is very difficult to ground yourself. Once you take care of the mind, settle it, come to terms, and know who you are, how you perceive, how others might perceive, then you can truly ground the hands to create something. That's my own theory anyway. Once I had sorted out all the madness in my mind to some extent, I was able to try to make something, like something as simple as a paper flower. 

For a display at the library, I created tissue paper flowers. After that, I kept making them, and I've gotten a lot better. 

- F

Surplus

What to do 
with this
surplus
love
which is
repelled
by its 
recipients?

All this love
which is
then absorbed 
back
doubly
and drips 
like a messy sponge
or else
an overfull 
water balloon
about to burst?

How can this excess
be used wisely?

How can this
built up pressure
hold
its perfect,
soft shape
intact?

Why compare love
to a commodity
at all,
when love
should be
free?

- F

Things that used to terrify me are the things that I've become."

What it would mean to be an American if being American were reduced to Guy Debord's "Society Of The Spectacle" (1967) . Something like Yelawolf, no?

Down This Road

Catfish Billy

Devil In My Veins

American You

Shadows

Daylight

No Hands

Hard White

Edvard Grieg's "Notturno"

I had the chance to record myself playing Edvard Grieg's "Notturno" this afternoon. I played on a Boston upright - which felt much better than yesterday's Yamaha. For my notes/thoughts on this piece, see my post from yesterday: Thoughts on Edvard Grieg's "Notturno"

I find that I play "Notturno" much slower than perhaps it's meant to be, but I have no problems with it. Here is a recording of a professional pianist - Alessandro Deljavan - playing the piece at a faster tempo, and with much more skilled hands.

I hope you have a peaceful Wednesday afternoon.

- F

"And a Heaven in a Wild Flower"

"To see a World in a Grain of Sand

And a Heaven in a Wild Flower

Hold Infinity in the palm of your hand

And Eternity in an hour"

- William Blake

Thoughts on Edvard Grieg's "Notturno"

One of the most exciting things about working at the Harold Washington Library Center is that, one floor above where I work, there are practice rooms for musicians. Each room has an upright piano in it. I've had some time to practice - and haven't done so nearly enough - but I'm getting there. I've been brushing up on a piece I learned back when I was about ten years old. It is by Edvard Grieg.

Edvard Hagerup Grieg, Norwegian Composer

1843 - 1907

The piece I've been practicing is "Notturno", which means little nocturne. A nocturne is a piece of music (or other artwork) that is supposed to suggest the night, or nighttime. For me, this piece brings to mind someone thinking deeply about something, coming to conclusions, re-playing situations in his or her head, deciding on certain things, changing ones mind and opinions on certain things as s/he remembers events, and all the while is pacing, pacing, excitedly, nervously, angrily, and lovingly, calmly, until s/he comes to a conclusion about the thing being thought about. This piece seems to be like a "thinking" piece. When I play it again, I'll imagine thinking at night.

(See a recording of me playing this piece here: Edvard Grieg's "Notturno")

- F

Our Honeymoon: England, May 2019

Although Dan and I will be getting married in September of this year (2018), we won't be going on our actual honeymoon until May of 2019. About a year or so ago, we chose England as our destination. Though some may not understand why we didn't choose someplace else, like somewhere more tropical to celebrate our nuptials, we find that England is the perfect "getaway". It is as much romantic, magical, and fun as it is full of culture and history. And, it is the perfect place to pay homage to our mother tongue. We've already begun planning our two week stay. We hope to find a cozy hotel in London and then rent a car. For the first week, we'll explore a different castle in the country each day. The second week we will go horseback riding, try falconry, and check out museums, bookstores, and libraries (...and bars). Some focal points: Stonehenge, The White Cliffs of Dover, Oxford, Tintagel Castle, and Arundel Castle & Gardens. So many of the things we both love have their foundations in British culture - I'm so very excited and I'm absolutely positive it will be nothing short of amazing.

I plan on writing as much as my body, physical and mentally, will let me. I plan on taking photographs with an actual camera, rather than my iPhone. I'll share edited versions here on my blog. Our tentative itinerary will look something like this:

Tentative Itinerary for F&D Honeymoon 

May 2019: ENGLAND

Day 1: 

• Arundel Castle & Gardens in the county of West Sussex, England

• Ancient Yew Forest Of Kingley Vale in West Sussex

• Ashdown Forest in East Sussex - The forest "The Hundred Acre Wood" from Winnie the Pooh is based off of. 

Day 2:

• Bamburgh Castle in Northumberland

Day 3: 

• Explore Oxford, England

Day 4: 

• Dover Castle

• White Cliffs of Dover

Day 5: 

• Windsor Castle

Day 6:

• St. Michael's Mount

Day 7:

• Tintagel Castle: place of King Arthur's birth and Merlin's Cave

Day 8: 

• Explore London. Maybe the British Museum? Abbey Road? Westminster Abbey? Big Ben? the Tower of London? Buckingham Palace? Hang out! Relax.

Day 9: 

• Stonehenge

Day 10:

• Try Falconry!

Day 11:

• Horseback riding (yes, it will be exactly like Cinderella)

Day 12:

• Devon, England

Day 13:

• Mayfield Lavender Farm

Day 14: 

• London, England ------> Chicago, Illinois

- F

Starry Starry Night

I ran away from home a year or so after high school. I left in the middle of the night with all my stuff (some furniture and clothes) and moved into a crumbling down apartment in a not very nice part of the city (just some months after I left, a man hung himself in the basement). The room I moved into was abandoned by a well-known party girl in the city. I didn't know a lot of people.

I was frightened. I was shaken up by what I was doing. I didn't really know what it was I was doing or exactly why. All I knew was that, at the time, it was the only option. I felt stuck. It doesn't matter why, it just matters that I moved because I had to do something about that utterly stuck feeling.

I took my futon with me to the apartment I was moving into. After it was set-up, I sat on it and took in my surroundings. I let the cold unease of not knowing what lay ahead, with no insurance, no money, no job, let alone not being in college, not having a plan at all, settle into my bones. I did know I had someone who could take care of me for a little while.

I probably needed therapy but didn't know enough at that time to seek it out. And even if I could, I wouldn't have been able to afford the travel there or the therapy itself. I chain-smoked my cigarettes with the window open, letting the soft bright light from my room shine out into the frigid air and onto the moving cars, bikes, and bundled up people.

At least my futon bed felt clean and fresh. But I was fearful. I was surviving another Chicago winter, but this time away from the only home I knew. I anticipated the next morning as I sat there staring out. I had to wake up extremely early to catch the Pace bus so I could start looking for jobs. But I dreaded it with a heavy depression that crept through my body like death. First of all, I didn't know where I was going to go. Secondly, I didn't know what kind of job I was looking for.

I wanted and needed rest, but I didn't know how to go about getting it. How does one "get" rest? It shouldn't be something a person must attain. It should be something acquired over time, something that a person has in reserve for a long day (now, I'm lucky enough to know how that feels). Maybe someday I'll write about rest, but this time my intention is to write about something I found in the garbage.

On my way to this apartment, before I even set foot in it, me and my then boyfriend found something sticking out of a dumpster. It was rolled up and we took it out (don't ask me what our rationality was at that time, but I guess we would sometimes look through the city trash for something interesting). The rolled up paper happened to reveal a print of Van Gogh's famous painting "The Starry Night". Or it was "Starry Night Over The Rhone". I can't really remember. Most of it is a blur. I remember the blueness of it. Such a blue.

After some urging, I took it with me. That print was the first thing I placed on the wall of that empty room. I placed it onto the dry wall and slowly, quietly, pressed in each thumbtack. Finally, looking up at it from my bed, I remember feeling, amidst all that fear and uncertainty and thoughts of a dire, useless life, a peace - a calm - that filled the air. That even if I had done this horrible thing, even though I may not make it in the world, even though I didn't know what was going on or what I was doing, that I could feel. I felt love and kindness and gentleness along with all the confusion and sorrow of wanting something that I couldn't describe because I didn't understand and didn't have the words for my own thoughts. The print of Van Gogh's painting gave my soul a focal point for a subdued excitement that maybe not now, but some time, everything would be alright.

I knew nothing of Van Gogh (I don't know much now either). But I realize that art took me away from that scary place and placed me outside of it, somewhere bigger, somewhere where I was able to connect with the world in a way that just... made sense.

In memoriam of that time, here are two versions of "Vincent" which touch my heart: the original by Don McLean and a cover by James Blake.

- F