“Remember, remember, this is now, and now, and now. Live it, feel it, cling to it. I want to become acutely aware of all I’ve taken for granted.”-Sylvia Plath
She died on 11 February 1963.
Sylvia Plath’s Grave
“Reading her poetry is like picking up shards of glass with a bare hand. It is unnerving to discover that something so deceptively small can cause so much bleeding.”-Alicia Austen
Home is heading to Columbus for a few days. It’s hanging out with my baby brother and making stupid faces. In public.
Being stupid with my brother is what family is all about. Family=home.
From Rootabaga Stories
This is thoroughly American.
Duncan does not have literary interests like his feline sister. He prefers to run around like a cyclone, chasing shadows. He’s hard to photograph because he is rarely still. Even when caught in a moment of relaxation, he starts bouncing around as soon as he sees the glint of the phone or camera, trying to find, then kill, the light source. Thank goodness for the existence of the burst shot.
Duncan in a moment of stillness.
“Not Carnegie, Vanderbilt, and Astor together could have raised money enough to buy a quarter share in my little dog.”-Ernest Thompson Seton
Pablo Neruda To Be Exhumed In Chile [courtesy of Huff Post Books]
There lives a tree, just outside my window…
Lonely Tree, Take One
He stands watch over our urban street, nature’s guardian lost in a maze of manufacturing buildings. If he moves his branches just so, other trees come within view. Across the way, down the road. They have their own concerns; he is alone.
Lonely Tree, Take Two
Telephone poles, wires, patchy squirrels, delicate birds, and empty water bottles interact with him fleetingly, coldly. I wonder if they even speak the same language? Continue reading
It’s no secret that I love notebooks. They are tools of my trade, a bit old-fashioned, perhaps, but useful, evocative of an earlier time, and beautiful. I usually walk around with tiny Moleskines hidden in my purse and crumpled scraps stuffed perilously in coat or skirt pockets. Spirals of cheap school paper are stacked in the studio and by my bed. Since quantity counts, I cannot afford to be too discerning. I run through paper at an appalling pace (no need to worry, darlings, I recycle), and play a continuous game of hide and seek with the surviving notebooks. Fortunately, I came into a spot of luck back in January by winning this sexy guy:
Everyday I Love You Notebook from Smythson
Isn’t he divine? He originated in London and was sent to me via Austria, from the fabulously chic Nadine of The Flamboyante. The stars surely aligned when I won her December Smythson Notebook Giveaway. This match is meant to be: he’s already an important part of my creative process and is an inspiration in his own right. An unexpected bonus? I feel a lot more elegant dashing off notes on the fly. Maybe Nadine sprinkled magic dust on the notebook before mailing it off. I’ll never know.
Oleanders (Vase with Oleanders and Books) by Vincent van Gogh, 1888
The book on top is La Joie de vivre by Émile Zola. A framed copy of this painting hangs in my kitchen. The original, a gift of Mr. and Mrs. John L. Loeb, is in the collection of The Metropolitan Museum of Art.
A Small Press Life: Books. Art. Writing. Life. Tea. 