green(s)

in , ,

green with
(envy)

holding on
like a breath
before
falling.

g(r)o(w)ing
toward
the light.

insagram poetics.

sometimes things won't lift

in

a hobby of mine recently has been finding used clothing on the local thrift store’s “dollar day” & altering it to conceal or work with its existing stains, tears, or general misshapenness. I’ve tie dyed designer tee shirts, bleach splattered men’s work jeans, & cut up blouses & button downs. there’s something I find fun in remaking a garment which would have otherwise reached the end of its life.

of course, this doesn’t always work. recently I found a discounted pack of plain black socks at a department store & thought they might be interesting if I were to bleach tie dye them. I brought them home, rolled & twisted & knotted them up with tiny rubber bands from the dollar store & dropped them in a bucket of bleach.

nothing happened.

I left them submerged for well over half an hour & yet the socks remained steadfastly black. not even a hint of variation in shade. I checked the materials—natural fibers, not colourfast—& double checked the expiration date on my bleach. no explanation to be found for why my boring black socks were still their original hue.

I think this is probably a lesson. a metaphor perhaps? sometimes even if all the conditions are right, the colour just won’t lift & there’s nothing much at all you can do about it. sometimes you can’t move the mountain.

note: this is the first in a new series I’ve decided to work on called “failure blog”. if you know me, you know I love & appreciate failure more than lots of people & also have some probably silly philosophical ideas about the act of failing. maybe that’s me just trying to make value from the fact that I’ve failed a hell of a lot over the course of my life (& will likely continue to do so), but I think there’s something to the act of failure. especially as a creative. so failure blog will exist for my ruminations on this stuff. for better or worse.

hope

in ,

“Hope” is the thing with feathers -
That perches in the soul -
And sings the tune without the words -
And never stops - at all -

And sweetest - in the Gale - is heard -
And sore must be the storm -
That could abash the little Bird
That kept so many warm -

I’ve heard it in the chillest land -
And on the strangest Sea -
Yet - never - in Extremity,
It asked a crumb - of me.

-emily dickinson, #314

hope, after emily dickinson (2019)

mermaids

in , ,

going through old photos & came across these film shots from the coney island mermaid parade. I’m not certain of the date, but I estimate it’s 2010, if the bp oil spill reference is any indicator. I didn’t attend the parade every year I lived in brooklyn, but I did go several times. always a highlight of my new york summer season.

the coney island mermaid parade began in 1983 as a launching of the summer season. it is now the largest art parade in the united states—attracting thousands of participants & even more spectators from around new york city & the world. nautical themed costumes are encouraged for viewers & required for participants. a range of contests & other festivities surround the event, including the annual crowing of a king neptune & queen mermaid. in 2019, arlo & nora guthrie received the honors.

learn more about the parade on its website.

shot on 35mm film with a vintage nikon fe.

30 days of collage

in

Recently I decided to do a scrap collage in my journal every day for 30 days. These are the results.

also on my instagram.

the park

in ,

journal, mt. hollywood summit

IMG_4261.jpeg

if butterflies are symbols of transformation then mt. hollywood must be a place of transformation because it’s always swarming with butterflies up here. they make me nervous.

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summit

I forgot

how to wear myself

comfortably draped

a swirl of cloth

tied at the elbows

& knees.

expectation of give—

I never learned

what holding firm is.