lights

Living each day as my last.

Black, white and brilliant.

My choice for who I’d like to dance with…

Francis and the Lights “The Top”

and proof that great things come out of Brooklyn…

White Rabbits “Percussion Gun”

colourful

Living each day as my last.

You know that feeling you have when a song you love and haven’t thought about in ages pops up in your ipod’s shuffle rotation after months of it lurking outside of your playlists?

That’s what I had on Saturday when I went to the Louise Blouin Foundation – a gallery in Notting Hill. When I arrived I discovered that they were showing an exhibition on Louise Nevelson entitled Dawns and Dusks.  Nevelson didn’t ring a bell for me until I stepped into the gallery and was transported back to 17 years of age in art class, working on a project that I haven’t thought about for years.  I still remember Mr. S challenging us to scavenge from the pile of discarded wood scraps and, like Nevelson, transform the rubbish into monochrome masterpieces.  The sculpture I hammered together was a collection of arrows on a triangular base. It only strikes me now that I completely disregarded the monochrome, painting each arrow in a different colour to make a collection of six ranging from a fiery hot arrow to a weathervane. The resulting piece was passionate and colourful and looked nothing like Nevelson’s subdued creations.

Once I got past my weird deja-vu-ish feeling, took a run through before the gallery was to close.  The curator’s comments and Nevelson’s quotes are still bopping around in my mind. Nevelson said, “I always wanted to show the world that art is everywhere, except it has to pass through a creative mind.” And further down the white walls, the vinyl application said that she often chose black because black is the colour that accepts all colours… and that white only accepts one. I can’t help but just think of the spiritual parallels… does this apply to dark and light?  Can light also accept all colours?

My favourite comment, though, is this:

“Her reputation as an artist has been enhanced by her colourful character on the New York art scene. She was known for her trademark fanciful headgear, and for having a strong ego – “I wouldn’t marry God if he asked me,” she once commented, and on another occasion noted: “I always thought, bluntly, that I was a glamorous, goddam exciting woman.”

Whatever floats Louise’s boat… but I’d have to say that I’m a colourful character and most definitely a glamorous, goddam exciting woman… and I’m pretty certain God would fancy that!

elegance

Living each day as my last.

Captivating, this video.

Few words needed, just have to add I’m a bit jealous that this idea is now taken.  And that I still find new things I didn’t notice after discovering this a bit ago!

Oh yes, and that my curls look just as gorgeous when I sleep!

beginnings

12th January: Day 91 of doing one thing as if I was living that day as my last.

For some reason I still think in semesters. There’s fall and spring and then summer (break!…not). And each time I’ve moved it’s been during summer (the worst time to make friends), acclimation is in the fall (a bit depressing as everything around you begins to die off, just like the initial excitement of your new location), and then with the spring semester comes the settling in, integration, and beginning of the new life.

I left London in December, with a distinct feeling that after the break, would come the breakthrough.

And it’s beginning.

Like on the night of 12th January.

Introduced by a friend of a friend to another friend, I was in a bar in Clapham talking to a girl who had the same vision as I have. We talked about art and faith and creative potential… of collaboration, support, prayer… of festivals, workshops, new things. She had the passion, but little experience with this sort of thing. Sitting there I was amazed to think of all of the intersections of art and faith I’d experienced before: in Greenwich, Connecticut, Houston, Texas, New York, London… and whilst I don’t have the vision of recreating these places, I’m certain that I’m here to encourage A’s art prayer group, share some of the things I have seen, and simply be here, to be used as needed.

I’m awed and humbled to see the pieces start to fall in place…

art

4th January: Day 83 of doing one thing as if I was living that day as my last.

I had made the big move for more than just bringing home the British bacon – or rashers as they call it.

Instead, I thought it was about art, faith, community, connections. I wasn’t sure quite what that meant. But I was here. And open to it.

But I felt like I was hitting my head against a wall in the fall. The community I thought I was to volunteer for didn’t need me. Had I just imagined this sense of purpose? Was all the passion to just dissipate? It would be so easy to just drop it. Get busy. And be safe.

But then the connections started. The art church in Knightsbridge. The friend of a friend that was starting an arts prayer group in Clapham.

One contact at a time.

And today, a service for the arts.

Not sure what’s happening. But whatever it is, it is happening.

lost

29th November: Day 48 of doing one thing as if I was living that day as my last.

I saw a billboard that caught my eye this Saturday. I was on my way eastward to meet one of my friends visiting from New York. My first reaction to the BA billboard was, “Those stairs look like the ones in the Panier Quarter in Marseille where they filmed Colin Firth bounding down the steps, on his way to the Bar de La Marine to win back his little amour Portugais.” But once I saw past the French aspect, the words seemed like a bit of a challenge to me: “Put down your map and get wonderfully lost.”

After the most chocolate filled croissant I have ever tasted at Patisserie Lila, I set off to get lost in the Borough Market. I quickly found the stall I was looking for, the one with Tweet Tweet Brownies. And then I happened upon a “rescue remedy”.  I have to admit that I don’t love ginger.  But I gave the mulled ginger, lemon and honey tea a try.  Just thinking about the sickly sweet, nasty taste makes me throw up a bit in my mouth.

Then I wandered through the streets and found myself opposite St. Paul’s at the Tate Modern.  Already sick, I knew I couldn’t endure my usual museum routine of looking at every masterpiece thoughtfully and trying to see it’s merits.  Especially when these modern works were often blobs of paint.  So instead, I put on my ipod and breezed through each room, only stopping at the things that really stood out.  And I did find one hanging installation I really liked, by British Artist Cornelia Parker, entitled “Thirty Pieces of Silver”.

roof

29th October: Day 17 of doing one thing as if I was living that day as my last.

Running around breathless on site during rehearsals. But not too busy for a quick breather and some artsy shots.

sparkle

Let’s be clear: I have neither aspirations for the good things of domestic divadom, nor the life of cable knit wearing, tennis playing, luxury SUV driving, country club membership toting, picture perfect women of my hometown that quite literally spawned The Stepford Wives (no offense). Even still, my recent discovery of Soho’s CB2, the new and slightly more modern sibling of Crate & Barrel, was a thrill. I had just fifteen minutes before meeting up for dinner to peruse, completely absorbed, touching, rendering in my mind table settings for uber-fabulous dinner parties, picking new palettes, disengaging to go far away to my own creative world.

After a great week in Connecticut, resting up and lifting nothing heavier than a fork, it’s refreshing to be back in the city. I was reminded in CB2 of a recent email from my friend C. She said, “NY is unparalleled at this time of year for sparkle and shine.” In CB2 some sparkle – yes in a very literal sense – caught my eye:

C, has the power to get me to spill all of my scary artistic aspirations. I usually wish I could quickly inhale the words back into my mouth as soon as they have tumbled out. Yet C, an art director now living in Rome with her Italian fiancé, doesn’t bat even one of her beautiful long lashes. In fact, her two favorite words of encouragement are to fuck up – to stop thinking about all of the wasted paper, photos, words, strokes, scribbles, failed attempts.

So after a visit to Pearl, I have new material and I am determined to waste it! I have a hunch that like Van Gogh wrote his brother Theo, “the liberating breakthrough [comes] just by letting my pen go.” As a matter of fact, I’m not even sure I should bring my eraser along with my sketch book and pencils to The Met, as filling the pages with fuck ups just might be another way to reclaim some of that sparkle… (speaking of reclaiming sparkle, I witnessed a guy taping up lost engagement ring posters on 5th & 19th this afternoon…)