art exhibit

Mostly Yes, Brain Kershisnik

I'm really rather excited about this.

Brian Kershisnik Winter Art Show,
"Concordia"
Friday, February 5, 2010
6 - 9 pm
Meyer Gallery Park City, UT

happy weekend

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on my desk

This is the creative space of one of my favorite writers.

My roommate took a class from Louise in college. (I don't really know why I just called her Louise. We've never met, but in my brain we are bosom buddies.) I used to go with Lindsay to hear her lectures because she is so entertaining. If you've never read "The Apron Stage," you'll love it. These ladies are talented, not to mention hilarious.

egress

Main Entry: ¹egress

Pronunciation: \ˈē-ˌgres\
Function: noun
Etymology: Latin egressus, from egredi to go out, from e- + gradi to go
Date: 1538

1 : the action or right of going or coming out
2 : a place or means of going out : exit

Hopper on Art

Sun on Prospect Street

If I could say it in words there would be no reason to paint. |Edward Hopper

i'll drink to that

Tonight was the annual Hires Sunday dinner, this year's Sunday Shake-up. Our lucky behind-the-counter evening with our favorite BH. When the burgers were plated and ready to go, I took the chance to fulfill my 7 year-old dream of being a Hires waitress by delivering them to the lovely ladies at the table. As usual with this bunch, the conversation was hilarious, and updates were given by all. Here's to lovely dudes, things landing on top of other things, missing jackets at 5 am, not being brothers and sisters with some people, Big H's in abundance and bottomless fry sauce. Here's to K's new house and to MMF for being our inspiration. And last, but most definitely not least, here's to the H's, the O's, and the R's for making it happen. Peace, love and french fry grease.

*Oh, and to those who have asked for pictures of my turtle shell, there you go. Perhaps in the near future I'll post another less-disguised one. Perhaps. Forgive me, I'm still in shell-shock.

bon week-end toute le monde

i'm completely enchanted with this photo.
le tour eiffel dans a nouveau point de vue.
i've been saving it for a time when i'm particularly missing paris.
seems today is such a day.
bon week-end à gogo.

artist's spaces

the: where they create project
point. click. discover. be inspired.

pretty in pink

Dad put pink flamingos in the yard on the side of the garage. As a joke. In October. I keep forgetting to tell E. They've been there since fall crept in, standing stick straight checking in on the R's each time they sit down at their round table. Aside from being tacky, those pink plastic lawn ornaments are now fading from the timid rays of the winter sun as it sluggishly rises over snow-covered rooftops and finds its way onto our fair-feathered friends. "I don't mind. They're just a reminder that it's warm somewhere else," was E's mum's response when I apologized for my Dad's silliness. Ever since, I don't mind seeing that small pink parade against the winter white landscape. In fact, they remind me that E just so happens to be off somewhere warm. Perhaps there will be a ceremonial Uprooting of the Flamingos upon her return. We'll have a Double Bird Funeral, just like old times. Romney will be the preacher, dressed in black, presiding at our little backyard bird service. E will give a melancholy yet inspirational life sketch, tears will be shed, and we'll mark the spot where the flamingos once stood to remind us of warmer days, in warmer places, when E was far far away serving the people of Indonesia.

When I was Rome-ing

I stopped in at King's English today to pick up our latest book club read. It's full of cozy corners, wood floors worn down with the scuffing feet of eager readers, and chairs awaiting those very readers to plop down with a book and page-turn to their heart's content. No matter how many times I've been there, nor how many "watch your step" signs combined with red tape running across the threshold leading into the fiction section, I always seem to stumble. The sales reps at the front desk get quite the show. Today was no different.

I left with a book I read a short review about here. I haven't been able to put down. After learning our book club selection wasn't in stock, I quickly found one to take its place then asked the clerk what business I had picking up two new books, especially since book club is this week and I haven't even seen the book we're to be reading. Speaking of the one I haven't been able to put down, "But look at the darling cover! I'm such a judge-a-book-by-the-cover girl. And...it's British. All the better." We were instant friends. "I don't know how you work here," I said, approaching the counter. "Me either. Someday I'll have to eat my books for survival. Lots of fiber, though," she said, taking her place behind the register. As I handed over my cash I said, "And you'll be recycling. A noble gesture, indeed."

"When We Were Romans," by Matthew Kneale. Add it to your to-buy/to-read list. It's adorable, even on the inside. Read JoAnna's review below:

The tale is narrated by a nine-year-old boy, whose mother abruptly moves him and his sister from England to Rome when she becomes convinced that his estranged father is spying on them, turning the neighbors against them and trying to hurt them. As their adventure turns more madcap, you start realizing that things may not be quite what they seem. The little boy has such a sweet, authentic voice and your heart swells for him; the whole story is told with misspellings and run-on sentences. (He also loves talking about the universe and crazy Roman emperors.) It's one of those books you can't put down; at bedtime, I'm always fighting to keep my eyes open...

new year, new trajectory

As one who has always been better at holding on than letting go, I've been slow to close the door on 2009. The other day while thumbing through an old file, I found some papers from my English class my senior year of high school. Robert Frost's words stared back at me:

Nature's first green is gold,
Her hardest hue to hold.
Her early leaf's a flower;
But only so an hour.
Then leaf subsides to leaf.
So Eden sank to grief,
So dawn goes down to day.
Nothing gold can stay.

As hesitant as I've been to step across the threshold of 2010, I'm enthusiastic about the doors that I see before me and those that aren't yet within my trajectory. Beyond them are new hues. New leaves. New things, as good as gold.

New Year's Resolutions on the Redux:
1. Create.
2. Be True to self.
3. Listen.
4. Discern.
5. Live in the moment.

on organization

When I was sixteen, I began working for a local interior designer. I was endlessly fascinated by his studio space. My duties were limited to organizing the sample room and going through blueprints, but I was in heaven. In the design files of my mind I created quite the interior design studio for myself. It was well-organized and full of original art. There was a sample room to die for and the showroom was full of silk brocade, slip-covered linen chairs, and monogrammed pillows. More than ten years later, I'm far from such a studio space. I drive passed the building where I spent time sorting fabrics, blueprints and furniture catalogs. Since I spent afternoons in that building there have been two large renovations. The studio is now two and half times the size it used to be and the parking lot is nearly full everyday with both employees and clients. I don't have a parking lot or a sample room. I have a desk and a sample drawer and a corner office in a room that serves another purpose. But it's a space of my own where I can create.

I've always liked this little spot of the blogosphere. I find it fascinating how others organize their creative space. In this month's issue of House and Garden, there is an article about designer Suzy Hoodless. In the article, the author talks about Hoodless the anomaly. The "extremely well-organized creative person." Is this possible? I'm not quite sure. But for the new year, I cleaned off my desk. And took a picture because I'm not sure how long this will last. It's definitely not worthy of appearing on On My Desk, but I'll post it on my blog for my own inspiration. Perhaps posting these photos alongside the words about Hoddless' well-organized creativity will be a catalyst for my own organization.

happy weekend

be cherry. or cheery.
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please proceed

The other day when I was supposed to be thinking about what belongs in a home's interior, all I could think about was what belongs on its exterior. All color combinations, entry ways and specifically, doors. I've always had this fascination with them. Their color. Their shape. Their size. How the style of a door relates to the architecture of the rest of the house. These portals serve as a preview to the home's soul, to its intimate insides.

Not all my thinking has been literal. I've been conjuring up thoughts about doors as they relate to certain opportunities in life. Taken. Untaken. Open. Shut. Locked. Why some doors stay open for a long time, giving us a grand view of what's going on inside, but we fail to cross the threshold. Why, when the door is wide open and the path is before us, do we wait for someone to usher us through? The future in view, all vistas and open valleys, we stand and we vacillate. Opportunity is knocking, rapping, rather, and we don't answer.

There's much more to explore here, speaking of figurative vistas. These very vistas and valleys have been keeping me up at night. I've scribbled thoughts down on scratch paper (graph paper the other day when I was supposed to be working on a floor plan) all week. So many thoughts that I think I might do a series of posts. Not that anyone wants to read what I have to say about doors, but I'm going to attempt to write some of it down over the next while. I'm not promising vistas or valleys or anything like a bright future, but perhaps you'll sit awhile and mull over my musings. * Come on in if you wish. The door is wide open.

photo by moi, The West Village, Manhattan


*Sometimes I worry about my extreme use of alliteration. I bet it gets annoying to read. In all honesty, it's how my brain works, and more often than not I'll think of alliterative words during normal conversation, but refrain from speaking them. So while you might have to read them, be grateful you don't get the double dose (see?!) via conversation, too.

happy new year