16 February, 2009

Don't Worry

I do my best to not let the gray-drear and down-cast gloom of February wear me out. Last year's was dismal. I spent the month with my nose rubbing up against text books, being cooped up indoors beneath shitty overhead lighting, not having enough time to watch movies, and not even having enough time to eat healthy, let alone exercise. Everything was rotten, made all the worse as my disciplined routine of creating, which I had been developing throughout the previous fall, slowly spoiled off. (Remember when I used to make things like The Bellinghome Funshine Hour just for fun?)

This February, in thanks to a considerable decrease in commitments and the resulting huge surplus of free time, I've committed myself to art projects to off-set the month's bleakness. I've been spending a great deal of time and effort on a my new screenplay Cleo in the Universe. If I had to pitch the movie right now to a big-shot film executive, I'd pitch it as "2001 meets Sesame Street."

I've also been trying to paint with water colors. For me, water coloring, with the mixing of paint, adding of water, is a lot like solving the answer to a riddle I'm writing simultaneously. To sit down with an empty piece of paper, several brushes, and an armory of paints, is a fantastic way to spend time. I can't help but feel light and nice about things in this setting.

Anyway, today I combined the two to make a poster for my apartment. The paper is from a metro advertisement I tore away on a walk to or from some train. The way it tore reminded me of a run-down flier I'd see stapled to a telephone pole on Capital Hill in Seattle. I tried to make it look as much like a weathered poster for a movie that had either stopped screening a month or so ago, or had just been found in some Grandpa's dusty old trunk from way back before the war.

11 February, 2009

Ghost Home

"Ghost Home"

I realized just now as I'm posting this that the color palette is very Goodnight, Moon.

10 February, 2009

Going Great!

Today I was walking along the Seine as the sun was falling behind the big dark storm clouds which had just passed through Paris, when I was approached by an adorable, young, Japanese-tourist girl. With her camera out, she asked me in pitter-pattering, broken English if I'd be okay taking a photograph. My assumption was she wanted to have a picture of her taken in front of the river with the glowing Louvre in the background; but, no. Instead, she wanted her picture taken with plain-Jane, ol' me. I was surprised, but happy to oblige. So we clambered together in front of the digital camera, she threw two fingers into the air, and I showed my teeth as the camera clicked and the moment was captured. She graciously thanked me and walked away, just like that. And I walked away too, just like that, as if people stopped me on the streets of Paris for photographs all the time. Part of my routine, even.

For the remainder of the city block, all the people walking in my oposite direction looked at me intrigued, clearly wondering what it was about me that merited perfect strangers stopping me for photographs.

My New Years Resolution to be more mysterious is progressing to a T.

I spent yesterday locked up in my kitchen painting watercolors listening to The Great Gatsby on audiobook. I don't have the best paper for it, so the pigment doesn't absorb like it should, but I made two all the same. One's the blog's new header, and the other is just below. The big dipper, the second painting's subject matter, was the first constellation I could ever find. I still always look for it first. I imagine if I ever travel to the southern hemisphere, I'd feel faraway from home at nighttime.

"The Big Dipper"

08 February, 2009

chambre d'amour

I have a new routine of waking up in the middle of the night and not knowing where I am. It's unsettling and kind of fun asking my half-awake, half-dozing self, "Where am I?" and having to wait a few moments before it comes to me. Intrigued by this, I consulted the calendar from December 15th until a few days ago to count up the total beds I have slept in, with the amount of friends I slept with, and also the number of times I slept by myself.

In the past 51 days I've slept with friends 27 times, and by myself 21 times. When I was with friends, I slept in 14 different beds, and when I was by myself, I laid my head down in 6 different beds. A bed, incidentally, is anything from a real bed to a couple of blankets strewn across the floor, and by sleeping with a friend, I'm modestly suggesting we slept in close proximity with one another. It should also be noted that "sleeping with a friend" could be plural, as I was a participant at more than one multi-friend slumber party during the duration of the past 50-some days. It's strange when sleeping by myself has become the irregularity. To cope during the lonesome nights (I'm hypothesizing because it seems likely), my dreams have become more flamboyant and starry than usual. A week ago while sleeping by myself I had a dream where I was in a dance club/bunk cabin with a big gang of elementary school friends, and was blowing everyone away with my latest dance moves. One of my cool moves was to act like I was falling over, then just an inch or so from the ground, pop back up as if it were the easiest thing in the world. Their jaws were all agape, impressed with how remarkable of an adult I had developed into. We should have let him into talent pool, they were thinking.

I've been back in Paris now for just over a week, and I've found a new apartment to live and sleep in. It's in the 7th arrondissement, just near where Boulevards Saint Germain and Raspail meet. This marks my second go at living on my own, and I feel optimistic about it all. I've my own kitchen equipped with hot plates and a shower; a bed that turns into a couch and back again; a toilet I get to share with people; and so on. Ben and Ciara helped me break the place in the other evening with a dinner of steak frites, dessert, wines, and an inspired viewing of Wet Hot American Summer (maximum yuks). Let me share some photographs with you:

Kitchen/water closet

Living quarter/Ciara

chambre d'amour

Come visit. Hurry!