Sunday, January 31, 2010
Monday, January 18, 2010
Monday, January 11, 2010
There is so much mystery to painting. Throughout all of the books I've read, paintings I've viewed, words I've written-- I am still trying to recreate what is so utterly hypnotic about the act, how convincing and seductive a painter finds her substance, the literal alchemy of said substances, the blithe of blending, the pushing and pulling of paint across canvas, across the panel... The madness of when it goes wrong by a stroke, the suspense of knowing that sometimes, everything depends on a few, brief moments of contact.
Sunday, January 10, 2010
Thursday, January 7, 2010
Friday, January 1, 2010
Welcome to 2010. This is the year I complete LPT. While there are other things to accomplish, I can think of little else.
2009 was extraordinary—In the past 364 days, I’ve gained and maintained some amazing friendships. Among them, writer George Dawes Green and artist Anna Fox Ryan—both who inspire me intellectually and creatively. And then there’s that pair of Garibaldi (top two) former-bad boys, Rick Nagro and Roscoe Williams, Jr. who keep me laughing and entertained. I’ve reconnected with playwright Giles Gonnsen, kept in touch with Vanity Fair’s Feifei Sun, who I’ve known since high school.
In September, I traveled to Vermont for doctor-to-be Ashley Bunnell’s—Ashley Tracy’s—wedding. Ashley and I are lifelong friends; originally we met in preschool. My confidant remains Elizabeth Seeger, who listens to my twisted true-life stories/jaw-dropping secrets while sewing custom Satchel. handbags late into the night.
And, “just so you know,” says Emily Pike, “the two of us are still “together” and still causing (and in Lizzie’s case, documenting) all kinds of mischief.” The only reason my best friend from college has yet to appear on this record is because she’s been hiding in North Carolina. But Emily’s back now and we have plans on Sunday. You wait and see.
There exists, among so much gain, a single and devastating loss—of my cousin, Jerriod. He was a year older than me and we grew up together. In high school and early in college he was one of my closets friends. We’d drifted apart over the years. He died in October, suddenly. Jerriod was living in Atlanta at the time, dating a woman named Alicia, who has a young son. The day he died, he was supposed to return to Savannah. In the car with Alicia, Jerriod unlocked his seatbelt to brush a wasp away from the baby. Alicia drove a little off of the road and overcorrected herself, slamming into a tree. My cousin was flung through the windshield. He died immediately. But, thank God, Alicia and her baby were o.k. (Or, so I was told. I pieced this story together through snippets of information released through members of my family.) I wish it wasn’t so.
But. Good things are yet to come. Namely, the completion of draft 1 of LPT, to be complete by my birthday, March 16th.