Berry Nice

So silly! Yet, not a bad way to start this drizzly Monday-- discovering that Chicago thinks I look berry nice. I think that YOU look berry nice, Chicago. (Who knew?!)

Thanks, Glo!

House Beautiful

I found wisdom last week in the least likely of sources-- in House Beautiful, a decorating magazine I was given while pretending to be interested in buying Farrow & Ball paint. (I was secretly poaching Farrow & Ball paint colors to be mixed by the good people at Benjamin Moore--half the price!) And not to worry, dear reader, my gained wisdom is outside the realm of decorating, just bear with me.

While House Beautiful isn't my standard periodical of choice, it was there in front of me, and I'll take reading over shop small talk any day. I gladly jumped right into a world that describes bathtub faucets as 'voluptuous' and has entire articles devoted to things like 'different ways to stain reclaimed wood'.

Truth be told, I actually enjoy the decorating game (whenever I hear the word 'decorator' I think of Breakfast at Tiffany's. "He's already got a decorator. I'm the agent." It's such a dark film, isn't it? People forget that because of the pastry scene, but it's based on a Truman Capote novel! ANYWAY...) I am interested in people who fall in love with everyday things, and the world of interior design falls neatly into a category of passionate people who pour love into their craft--people whose eyes light up when describing a color of gray paint or a method of silk upholstery.

In an article titled 'The New Look of Wood is Tinted,' Susan Ferrier was asked about the domed birdcage centerpieces that she chose for a (stunning!) lake house's dining room table. Was there a story behind it? Her answer:

"Not really. [Finding the centerpieces was] purely visceral. I found them in Paris and just had to have them. Then I thought, 'These will really work in the house'-- even though I wasn't sure how. First you fall in love, then you rationalize. Isn't that always the case? Certainly with anything that lasts."

I read that last sentence, there in Farrow & Ball on Mercer Street, five times over with a dropped jaw before blinking back into fake-designer mode. Susan Ferrier, whoever she is, just said a mouthful and had absolutely no idea. First you fall in love, then you rationalize.

She is speaking of a centerpiece, for Pete's sake, of bits of wood and glass recreated to look like miniature trees or robins' eggs or something. But her offhand musings about Parisian antiques reached right out of House Beautiful and into my heart. Her simple words completely dissected and reassembled my current state of affairs. (So to speak.) We rationalize not because we believe ourselves to be right but because we cannot do otherwise. Because we've already gone past the point of okay.

I moved to a new apartment this weekend, did I tell you that? I haven't been here at the ol' blog much lately, but not for lack of content. I've seen plays and eaten dinners and read books with time that I, quite frankly, didn't have to spare.

Packing was packed in between seeing American Idiot and walking a million miles for MS research. Painting happened between a Florence and the Machine concert and dinner uptown with my best friend Meghan one gorgeous Thursday evening. Moving physically took place during work hours, as my time ran out on the weekends. I didn't stop my life for this move, but I did, in some ways, redirect my mind.

You see, the second part of Ferrier's verse (verse!) is the most important. Annie and I spoke of this very concept on my bare mattress the night before I moved away from 50 Downing Street. I made her sit there with me like school girls well into the night, in part mourning for the loss of this time and in part needing some perspective.

We talked about what it means in the context of relationships-- why do we continue to rationalize? Why not just quit? Because just like that studio apartment, those trees, that temptress of solitude... we fall first and rationalize later. It's why we say yes to that lease, it's why we hurt people, and it's why we get hurt as well. Isn't that always the case? Certainly with things that last.

I'm back though. I'm back here, in this space, and in a new space of my own. I'm tucked on a little street between the East River and a park, just past the BQE, and overlooking a willow tree. I'm there between my books and my art and the purple soap dish that once belonged to my Grandmother.

My white duvet is there beneath my Felix Gonzalez-Torres light bulb photographs, next to my Rock and the water cups that collect on my nightstand as the week wears on. I have a fire escape that faces a garden and a pot of mint tea on the stove, if you're interested. Come over for a visit. We'll watch Breakfast at Tiffany's and talk about anything that lasts.

A New Love

Hello again. A new camera entered my life this week. I'm probably blowing my excitement out of proportion, but if you know me at all, you aren't the least bit surprised. I get excited easily. Plus, its a LOVELY camera. A happy little camera. MY camera. Around this time last year I announced that I wanted a DSLR. I wanted a GOOD camera, one like Ryan's, like Molly's, like Luisa's, and Brian's. I started looking soon there after and came to the same conclusion for months on end-- I couldn't make up my mind on a model, or the brand, or the reason. I couldn't justify such an elaborate purchase without being certain. So yes, it took a year.

The first time I held an SLR, I was in love. In LOVE. (I'm also in love with the sewing machine up there, but we can talk about that later.) It was Ryan's camera and the click, click gave me a little thrill. The images I captured astounded me, especially the portraits. The feeling of clicking a good quality camera was like watching a flawless card trick (ah ha!) That click, click-- that perfect click, click-- gave me a high that I knew I had to chase.
Alas, an entire year later, I am finally holding my own SLR in my long, spindly fingers. I chose a Nikon D5000-- a refurbished model from the good men of B&H Photo who patiently helped me through the process. They all gave me a confused look when I told them over and over my reason for wanting a nice camera-- I just want my photos to look good. 'You're not a photographer?' No, not really. 'But you want to become a photographer?' No, I just want my pictures to look nice. Doesn't everyone? They kept asking me questions I didn't know how to answer because at this point I really don't know the difference between ISO, AF, and Lv. I do want to learn, though...

So here I am, camera in hand, click, clicking my way through New York City. I did some fantastic damage clicking all of Palm Beach this weekend on my little work trip, and will show you those photos soon. And--like a good blogger would-- I will be creating a Flickr site to share with you all, but I'm still figuring out the odds and ends of exactly how to do so.

Stay tuned, people. So much more to come...

Well, THIS is good news!

Looks like our little namesake resty is open for business! (Here, read this. Then this.) And it re-opened on my BIRTHDAY, no less. I am obviously taking this news as face value: New York clearly gave me a birthday gift, just when I needed it most.

What a lovely day this is turning out to be...

Falling in Love.

Love, Love, Love is a collection of essays written by one of my most memorable professors at St. Olaf College, Charles Taliaferro. In the essay with the same title, Charles speaks of the epic, grandiose concept of love with his dying father. "You know, Dad, when you get to the other side, there might be lots of questions. I hear that it's a good idea to say the word 'love' a lot." Shortly thereafter, his father takes his last breaths, squeezes his son's hand three times and whispers, "Love. Love. Love."

On a similar (lighter?) note, my dance instructor, Corey Hill (the magnificent) often says that words are best when repeated. I think its because he is too excited to say anything once... 'Here we go, here we go!' 'one more, one more!' 'dance, dance, dance!' 'its Britney, Its Britney!'...

Since I moved to New York City slightly over a year and a half ago, I too have come to realize exactly what this epic and grandiose concept can do... what power it can have. I have fallen in love time and time again with its streets, with its light, with its vigor, and its grace. I love its people and its energy and its temperance. New York taught me how to love unconditionally and what the word unrequited means. It taught me that loving is enough, and something we can absolutely choose to do. (It is a choice, ah ha!) Its fluid and easy and simple... its sharp, and biting, and clear.

However, in the recent past, New York and I have experienced the opposite of love: heartbreak (not hatred, yo). The city’s streets are screaming with economic upheaval, my dear friends' hearts are breaking over jobs, grad school, friendships, and boys. We are crying over stress and homework and deceit. It’s awful. I feel myself falling, failing, and flailing and realizing that there are things in this world that I can't make happen... things that I cannot fix. This is new to me.

Until this point I have rested my trust on the belief that I can create the very world I want to live in out of dust, and clay, out of paint and generosity. But I am quickly learning that I cannot create everything. I suddenly find myself beliving in crazy ideas like destiny for the first time. 'Destiny' being a future and livelihood beyond my control. This 'destiny' is happening to me whether I like it or not. And its kind of the best feeling ever.

I am left with an intensity to love as much as I can... to let go and fall head over heels with this city. With this beautiful old Building and Loan. There is nothing to do but release this heartbreak and start my own love story. And there is SO MUCH to fall in love with. So much to love me back.

New York love comes in many forms (and cliches) and, as Corey Hill so joyously taught me, are best when repeated. Best told over and over. So here is my small attempt at sharing my intense, crazy, and passionate New York love. That's what a blog is, right? A way to share so that others may repeat? Well, if so... these are the things that I love, love, love.