a dance like clockwork honey

It is an interesting experience to watch a performance

and be continually flooded throughout the viewing with other

images and thoughts it conjures in ones mind. I felt that way

this evening, watching the Mark Morris Dance Group at BAM.

Accompanied by a few stragglers running from the train though

the slush coming out of the sky, I was temporarily seated in the

back of the orchestra for the first piece, Behemoth. Being level

with the dancers for this part was ideal, to see the patterns, the

repeats, the prints in the space made with their bodies and

limbs. On all of their costumes, marigold and kelly greens,

each one had a little piece of mirror on their chest and they

would twist and one would hit the light and make little shadows

and sparks all over the room. It was clever and at first you think,

is that someone’s watch reflecting, what is going on? But, when

you realize it is the dancers and its part of their movements, it

brings a quiet smile.

I was thinking about Atomic City, a beautiful, thoughtful show with

acrobats that my brilliantly talented previous roommate, Aidan

performed in. It reminded me of the movements in that show. I

loved that about Behemoth, the repetitions of their playful, silly

movements, flopping feet like fish, the zigzag twisting with fingers

and to witness the reverb of these motions. The silence and space

in between become motions in another thought, in itself.

A scene started with five bodies, lying slightly to the side, feet facing

us. I immediately thought of one of my favourite passages in Albert

Camus' A Happy Death, where Patrice and his companions are at

the house on the top of the world in Algiers, sunning themselves until

they melt with pleasure. The cats are mentioned in this section of the

book, being lazy, carnal creatures and then some of the dancers were

stretching long and crawling across the stage, seemingly worshiping

the warmth of something and slowly scampering to reach it.

I started to think about those old wristwatches where you can see all

the springs and gears and everything is turning and it has its place but

there does appear to be a randomness about it. The dance felt like this,

but as if there was honey between the gears, making some motions in

between a flux.

I loved the tenderness when one of the male dancers picked up his lady

counterpart and held her up, displayed to the world and then laid her

back down, sliding her on to his back. It was quiet. I liked that.

The second piece ‘Looky’ was hilarious and fun. The backdrop was

like a Rothko painting and a Bill Viola art video to start and then the

dancers were running around in what I deemed to be Dolce and

Gabbana pajamas (but there was one star printed Miu Miu bodysuit,

I swear!) and making a tableau vivant turned barnyard hoe down.

But, don’t get me wrong, it felt so entirely Italian. This transformed

into a drippy gossip heavy formal ball a la Jane Austen. From there,

we turn to the jazz age, straight out of the chapter in The Great Gatsby

where Fitzgerald is writing about the citrus fruit for the lawn party.

It was drunken and erratic, with saltwater taffy melting soft Bob Fosse
struts and then wrapped with a slight resemblance to a Greek tragedy,

which is not too far off because the final dance was exactly that,

the death of Socrates.

I got all referential in this entry and that is not my intention, but I wanted

to stay true to everything that passed my mind and all the scribbles in

my notebook. Nonetheless, see this show at BAM if you can. Its worth it

for all your own set of inspirations and images.

Mark Morris Dance Group

@ BAM

February 26, 27 7:30pm

claudia

Claudia has been my daily cooking inspiration as of late. Slowly, her
masterpiece, The New Book of Middle Eastern Food is becoming my bible.
I just love those simple peasant recipes that are a nice break to create during
a day of work at home. Major shout out to Amy G for kindly giving me the book.

food dates, in clean well-lighted places

Two of my lovely pals treated me to a couple of fantastic food outings.
I have been to Chika-Licious a couple of times and this time, again
being a lovely experience. I adore all of the staff and their utter
excitement when telling you about the earl gray tea pudding and meyer
lemon sorbet and their love for it is totally contagious. My favourite thing
about this place is watching Chika prepare desserts and her silent little
smile as she does things like torch a creme brulee or perfectly round out
an ice cream scoop.


Hai totally surprised me with the suggestion of going to Minetta Tavern
to sample the infamous burger and the cote de boeuf. It was indulgent
and I loved every minute of it. Here is my day after reactions:

it was fantastic.
we had cocktails- excellent- hai had one with rosemary, delicious-
we shared the black label burger-
perfectly cooked- onion relish on top amazing-
brioche bun was a bit lacking- tasty and wonderful surely- but lost its form and edge
when soaked with the meats juice-just became a mechanism to hold the burger
was good- but wish it held its shape
very tasty- worth 26 bones
not sure but you gotta try it once

and then we had the cote de boeuf
superb
this is the best meat i have ever eaten-
sublime almost and there was tons of it-
and the bone marrow, completely indulgent
soaking it up with the bread- fat becomes fantasy-

when we were making our order, the waitress was like 'i recommend a vegetable,
that is a lot of meat' hai looked at me and i was like hai, we are not here to eat vegetables

i love you david and hai. thank you for eating with me.

mark

One of my favourite Saturday morning activities is catching up on
Mark Bittman New York Times Minimalist videos. Mark always has
the ability to make me laugh and hungry. How perfect is that?

eastern bloc

a friendly reminder that i am always up for hire to make a flyer.
and i use the term 'hire' loosely, could mean dinner, drinks, or a spa day.
just try me.

see your shoes and spirits rise

this is long overdue, i wanted to post this over summer holiday...
i just want to gush about my dear letter writing friend, erika pahk
and the unbelievable and creative work she has been doing as of late.
i so, intensely love these wearable art pieces she has developed.
the chatelaine pieces are so ideal for a nomadic traveling lady-
on my trip i found myself taking little things with me, so i could have
a reminder of all my loves back home, like jewelry and feathers and
they became so essential to me.
this device is a perfect means for their travel.

1. nesting, photo by rush jagoe
2. nesting, 2009
3. scarlet, 2009
4. chatelaine for worrier, 2009
5. chatelaine for a vagabond, 2009
all from erikapahk.com

the things we say to strangers

i found myself going on tonight, wildly, with very little encouragement
from the start about my trip.
saying things to this person i have known for five minutes,
things i have never told anyone. even myself.
it seems to all make sense as it departs from my mouth.
i am forming my thoughts in my mouth and
they are just taking this winded crazed flight.
but its deeper than that, they are imprinted somewhere on my heart.
now is just the time to read these maps.
i don't even think about these words or conceive them,
they do the work themselves. they are so raw,
they don't even have the moment to become contrived and dishonest.
waving my hands in the air and pushing down my bangs.
like bangs i had when i was six and my mother would take me
to get a balloon and a braid.
i wanted to get bangs to hide behind. i thought i needed
a shield for my return to new york.
because the last five months had been full of exposure.
i can't believe i hopped around like i did.
that i let the wind carry me.
that i was able to be effortless.
and full of lightness.
i used to be shy.

encouragement came from my listener.
it felt good to go on. i guess i haven't been able to since i have returned.
i felt so humbled when she called me an inspiration.
it just was what i was suppose to do and like D told me,
'you allowed yourself to move and be moved by life'
but aren't we all?
i was just paying attention and following the path placed in front of me.
i didn't think i had any other choice.

i wanted to be terrified.
that seems so strange to admit.
i wanted to see what i could accomplish alone.
i wanted to be uncomfortable and see what i was made of.

i told my listener, that i didn't know if i could travel with other people now.
that i dream of going to egypt. to india. to iran.
that i am planning a new trip already.
about the exact moment when i decided i had to leave new york.

i was wooing them in now.
my excitement was like a disease.
i wished for them to go and get on the plane.
what has gotten into me?
i felt like i was on the ceiling, watching a video of myself
enticing everyone to act with utter wanderlust.

today, i was thinking about the women i worked with in armenia.
how i cried when i was leaving them. how they moved me.
and how i had no idea that i moved them until the moment i was leaving.

die and go west

eric hemion sent this over to me, a view from his window-
maybe my beach bum surfer girl year in venice beach should be sooner than planned
photo by hemfish. californian watercolour moonset.

kyle in colour

its autumn in brooklyn

hot apple floor

well, i guess it is high time i admit what happened with the pie contest.
i gathered all my needs to make this baby and this is what came out
of the oven. i put oven mittens on to carry it out of my pals apartment.
K and i are walking down the stairs and he is says 'oh dude, i am afraid
i am going to drop mine' (he made a delicious pomegranate infused apple pie).
with his words still hanging in the air, i fall down the stairs.
with the pie.
my feet totally flew up in the air and with me, the pie.
it was completely inverted on floor of the entrance of the building,
with hot apples everywhere.
it was obscene.
me and apples flying up in the air.

i tried to patch it up and shove the apples back into the crust, but it was no use.
it was wrecked and i was too proud to bring a smashed pie to the contest.
i ate some of the crushed dessert and it was quite good and i was real sad.

we still went to the contest. K never dropped his.
it was horrible but kind of amazing and funny, as well.
we had a really good laugh about it all.

i will have to wait til next year to gather those highest honors.

there are no words

the strongest girl

(click above for video)

those faces, they remember

this face i'd seen so many times

sat across from and shared with

watching emilia, she is always thinking

her hair back in braids, whitened now

she is mostly quiet but always thinking

i try to convey how my time spent with her those six years ago was so influential to me

i hope i did somehow

i attempt to explain in broken italian how i was nostalgic for her fig jam

and i made my version in her honor and now i make it every autumn

people here, remember me when they see me

that is a strange feeling

that they remember when they see me, until they see me they have forgotten

light that fades wool

i like to ride the slow autobus, when i need to think and if i'm not running too late.
i got on this morning, we started to roll and
a character tapped the tin of the back of the vehicle.
he got on and hopped in the seat welded to the hump about the wheel,
his reflections motions of the movement
i watched him as he talked with his hands,
his peach shirt like the fruits they have been picking as of late, its the season
his face aged and tan, the sunlight through the stale curtains warmed the back of my neck,
i could feel the colour coming up
the light made a window pane pattern on his trousers and
i noticed there was a hole burned through by a cigarette
i could see him, hand talking wildly and the accident happening and
him having a wild laugh about it
he wore them so proudly, you could tell they had ages on them
he shouted up to the driver his desired destination
and nearly catapulted himself out of his welded seat and
hung to the hand rails like a monkey on jungle limbs
when the autobus paused, i didn't see him make his exit
my view somehow was obstructed, by what i don't remember
but we started again and i heard the tap on the tin,
maybe he didn't want us to forget him and i won't

playa perfecta

a greatest pleasure to see these lovely faces on my way

whit and ken at poblenou playa, before the orxata

we drink, we kiss and say goodbye

A first round of faces that I have come to know on this journey
and now must depart from. Ramon. Raffa. Laura. Pete.

we're out, like svelte fish, arm over arm

we have good fun and offer bits of banter in english, spanish, french and italian.

it amuses me when i say some random thing i always say and he wonders its origin

and i have the moment to explain my isms and i love that and try to cleverly define

the things i have created.

we sit out on the green waves for a few minutes and i have my eye peeled for

the one i have chosen

he notices this as i ready myself and almost too late shouts, 'paddle anushka!'

its got me by the feet and i rise up with it and pop to the stance we have been

perfecting for days

i'm looking down and it seems still for the second before it breaks

i've got it, i'm holding on, wax under soles, my soul on this one

and i flip off the back of my craft, into the curl motion of the ocean

feet over my head, salt tossed, head up out of water

he's got a big smile for me and says that was a big one

flight paths

Timo, the Finn that surfs like he was born to.

colores y comidas

of course, my first off shore post had to be food related

it wouldn't be me writing if it wasn't

i arrived early in the dia and just walked around Madrid

i found all these city cleaning guys sporting these radical neon colour combinations

i dig the yellows/reds/blues with the reds/fuschias of the flores

it was brilliant to see shannon later that evening and hear her beautiful flawless spanish

she took me a couple of her visiting pals to txirimirla

this basque tapas bar

we started with this amazing dry white wine, txoli, which had me considering rerouting my

travel plans to include a stop in bilboa to grab a case of the stuff

i had four glassfuls. and a heap of great tapas.

we took a late night coche spin around the major sites in and around the ciudad.

a first noche to beat.

love and respect

i was floored with the amount of love and support i have received in my last few days prior to my departure.

thank you immensely for your kindest words of love and admiration, the beautiful gifts, songs sang to me, hugs and kisses, messages and letters and 3d glasses.

leaving my empty room and all of you became clearly apparent in my last few hours.

i got a message in my last minutes of madness and stress that really helped me get on my way.

muchas gracias, love. i needed that.

i was totally bawling on my first flights from nyc to philly, which i throughly believed the nasty snatch

of an airline stewardess was relishing in because prior to that, she yelled at me to put my wallet and

bagel into the overhead compartment. i mean a bagel, really. and when she saw my stack of

letters and cards to open, i think she despised me even more. nonetheless, i flew, met a cool

windsurfer paparazzi dude (that was the spitting image of a young eric hemion!)

on the way, who assured me i was going to have a splendid trip

and convinced me i must stop in morocco and then i landed safely in madrid.

lady on a lim(b)

props to my lady, gg.

she is rocking it at philip lim with her handbag designs.

this speaks for itself and there are volumes!