Living on my own seems to have been one of the best decisions I’ve made in my life so far.
I wake up in the morning and am solely influenced by myself. Not what’s on tv, or what the cool kids are doing. Nor am i influenced by what’s deemed as socially exceptable or what I once thought I “needed”…
p.s. I am serious.
I have never seen a nocturne that comes close to the night-in-paint that I see in my mind. I have seen landscapes done by daylight that come close to the image in my head (Lopez Garcia) but I have never seen the color and shape of night in paint. Certainly it is a shifty space, from earthy purple to dense blue contrasted by the unholy incandescent light of street lamps and windows but it is the untouchable density of colorful black that overwhelms me. Shifting shadows and silhouettes that you can almost grasp but the edges move just when you try to observe them. Flat gradations describe the most expansive of spaces. Night space is usually used to describe an emptiness, a void, a fear of unknowing. I believe the night space is a fullness of unknowing - this formless form, this color-full blackness. Maybe touching the void has always been my obsession and night is my most recent touchstone for it. My earlier subjects describe it, while night becomes it. The nighttime is closer to me, more internal. My new goal is to make a night painting, not directly but slowly overtime, trying to absorb the experience until it plays out on the canvas. Conceived through other images and expressed in other ideas, but ever present.
One of our last nights in Pittsburgh, we stayed up all night filming in this beautiful church. (Readers of the book will know the scene.) Around 4 in the morning, the crew had to set up for a new shot. Ansel and Nat sat down at the piano and began improvising together, a sad and beautiful song that filled the church. Shai and I were crying when we took these pictures, as was much of the movie’s crew. It is my most vivid memory of our wonderful time together filming the movie, and I’ve been thinking back to it a lot the past few days. The Fault in Our Stars movie was made by people who cared about the story and cared about each other. I’m so grateful to them, and to everyone who is now seeing the movie and responding to it so deeply. #tfios
i love the part where he actually writes. i look over and I’m like HOLY SHIT I MARRIED A WRITER
The thought of another night alone was too frightful to imagine so I bought three bunches of chrysanthemums and went out for a little human contact.
I wish I could muster an overarching message for this post. Some poignant, beautifully phrased comment on the human condition. I wish I could let my brain think that thoroughly right now but I’m denying it that for the moment. Thinking leads to over-thinking which leads to thinking the worst these days. I’m simply a body with a pair of eyes- observing and writing what I see and feel.
As I stepped on my crate, I suddenly realized the extent of my exhaustion. For the last few weeks, my mind had distracted away from the lack of it’s lack of food and sleep but now I felt every tremor. My eyes were dry and no match for the cold wind assaulting them. Thankfully, it began to rain after a few minutes of agony, I decided I could get down for a minute and find some cover.
As I set up amongst a huddled mass of people seeking refuge out the front of the art gallery, a man walked towards me, watching me closely. He was dressed in some kind of ancient fleece, thongs, and appeared not to have washed in a substantial time. After I greeted him, he reached into his pocket and presented me with a crisp $100 bill.
"What’s that for?" I asked.
"I’m giving it to you."
"I don’t know."
We stood like that for a few moments- him clasping more than a week’s worth of my rent in his right hand which he seemed more than happy to part with. Still, I found the whole situation extremely troubling.
"I think you should save it for a rainy day. Another rainy day I mean, ha."
I immediately regretted my feeble, panicked attempt at humour. He smiled vaguely into my eyes and shuffled off in his sodden, filthy shoes.
Little did I know that in an hour, I would find my phone drowned in the puddle that had swelled beneath me as I statued. I didn’t realize I’d spend the next week a wreck, unable to connect any dots or make sense of where I find myself these days. All I know is I’m alive and I’m writing and waiting. Why? I don’t know.
I saw a documentary on this Korean ecologist who dug a hole in middle of Siberian wilderness to observe tigers for months.
The way he stayed inside that hole, waiting for these graceful and terrifying creatures with barely no human contact, reminded me of my teacher’s idea of painter.
He said painter is one of the lonliest professions. You have to be vigilant until the moment of sublime appears on you. Until then, you have to wait in that hole for months and months.
Koreans think of tigers as demi-god or devil. It is an animal that is possibly closest to the idea of sublime in my culture. Unutterable but devastating beauty of sublime….
So painters are waiting for tigers. They might experience sublime or get devoured. But they wait in wretching lonliness, hoping for the best.
fuckinsonic: who is the coolest power ranger
A dead man, and Jo Brand.
in 1st grade my friend max convinced me that there was a power ranger whose color was ‘clear’ and that he was secretly present in every shot of the show. so probably the clear ranger
do you ever have these friend crushes where you have this uncanny desire to be as close to them as possible without any romantic involvement
We need a word for this.