Goodnight moon

Last night’s full “super” moon stretched its light in a narrow streak across my floor, all the way to the head of my bed. Though it keeps me awake, I can never close the curtain on a full moon. 

Another Rebirthday

Seven years ago today I woke up in someone else’s life. 

I didn’t anticipate how dramatic the change would be. I had big, impatient plans whose tires were spinning on the rug that I had arranged to be yanked from under my feet. 

To start, I began drinking wine at every meal (excluding breakfast) and eating cheese that smelled like untouchable socks. I learned quickly that confrontation was not avoided here but even sought out and played with, that smiling while walking down the street made you look simple, that my pronunciations of regarder and rue de la verrerrie were better after drinking fruit juice, and that I understood nothing over the telephone and would have to go in person to read lips. I started swearing more in my native language to compensate for my impotence in my new life’s language. And, I didn’t recognize myself in the reflection of others because their eyes were looking through the heavy filter of my insufficient words. My small supply of adjectives just did not cover the scope of my thoughts.

The dream remained a dream, and every day was surreal
until surreal became real.

If change is the only constant, and because I like to count, I can say there have been 2,555 days of change between the me today and the girl in that photo. I knew her, I know her, I am her, I was her. I have sometimes forgotten her, hidden her, found her or denied her. I have pushed her very hard and yet not enough. I have taken her in and kicked her out, into the big wide world, to widen her peripheral vision. 

Some days I have no regrets.
Today, I’m happy to be here, wherever I am.

On my street today, a man dressed in green, all the way down to his broom, said to his street-sweeping partner, “Partage un peu mon frère, la vie n’est que courte et éphémère.”

Where small things die

this is not the monstrous moth that woke me up just now.
he, or she, is still at large.

every night she bangs her head against the walls,
ignoring my indications to the open window
because there is no light outside to draw her. 

yet there is little light inside,
which could explain why she flew at my closed mouth,
alarming my eyes.

this moth was found sleeping eternal in the floorboards,
in the same situation where the lumbering crunchy bug just died
at the hands of a q-tip and an espadrille.

A night at the Vagabond : Barbès II

Sometimes, when you think life can’t get any better, a piano rolls through the door and everything changes. 

Thursday night’s vernissage of Vagabond Gallery’s Barbès Pas Grave II found us painting on Gaki and dancing to rag-time. TOUT est possible à Paris, don’t listen to Parisiens who say otherwise. 

The list of creatives showing work included myself, Gaki, Adulkid, Yasuyo Iso, Kana Ueno, Etsuko Kobayashi, Sebastien Lecca, Kim Quach and Michel Vray.

After the painting performance, I’m asking a German artist about her self-explorations in super-8 while someone orders a piano. 

Turns out, Philippe Bas doesn’t go anywhere without his upright. 

And I thought my camera bag was heavy.
At least I don’t have to worry about parking.

The excitement and anticipation, while he pushes his piano into place, makes it feel like Christmas morning with Saint Nick making a surprise personal visit. And he hadn’t even played anything yet! Somehow we knew.

Stride just makes people HAPPY.

My two walls

I moved my studio today. 

By the grace of coincidence I’m taking over a small space that’s next to my old one at 59 Rivoli, in the center of Paris. I’ve been in a very small studio (it’s basically the hallway), making it work for me, but now I will have a corner! Here are pics of the old space, an example of size not mattering. It’s not always the tools you have (though I do love new tools!), but how you put them to work for you. 

Left-to-right, it was:

One Woman One Day Show

Demain soir je fête mes six mois de résidence au 59 rue de Rivoli,
j’exposerai le travail résultant de ce temps,
les images attendus mais plutôt inattendus,
autour d’un apéro, partagé avec des amis
nouveaux, de longtemps et pas encore connus.

A Paris? Vous êtes bienvenus.

Everything but the words

i am the worst procrastinator
when i have to write.

i am trying to write…

i have eaten dinner,
cleaned the kitchen,
plucked my eyebrows,
updated my facebook page,
changed into more comfortable clothes,
replaced my contacts with glasses,
taken off my hat,
put the hat back on
because it helps me think,
i think.

i lit a candle,
played with the candle wax,
charged my phone,
charged my iPod,
charged my laptop,
changed out of my shoes,
and watered the dying plant.

i made tea,
searched for chocolate in the cupboards,
finished the last two cookies,
cracked some walnuts,
looked out the window at the half-moon floating on a diagonal,
and sat back down at my desk.

i checked email,
i checked Facebook,
i checked Twitter,
i commented on one thing,
and “liked” another,
i clicked apple-tab back to Word, and all my notes,
changed iTunes from “repeat all” to “repeat one”

i turned down the music because i thought i heard the neighbors making love,
i turned the music back up because they are.

i opened a new email,
to get all this out…
and go back to this breakthrough,
because the right idea is now growing.

it’s four minutes from tomorrow

and the fear is gone.

I am ready to put it down.

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