"She writes about being alone on a bus in Chicago and deciding, with no plans or place to live, to go on to New York. There she “ate curry powder sandwiches, took Hindu dancing, read the ‘Bhagavad-Gita’ and Emily Dickinson, impartially."
Jerry Saltz on Dorothea Tanning
(Source: New York Magazine)
Things duplicate themselves on Tlön; they also tend to grow vague or “sketchy,” and to lose detail when they begin to be forgotten. The classic example is the doorway that continued to exist so long as a certain beggar frequented it, but which was lost to sight when he died. Sometimes a few birds, a horse, have saved the ruins of an amphitheater.
—Jorge Luis Borges (translated by Andrew Hurley)
Midday coffee breaks have always been part of my routine, but the ritual has become slightly different while in Florida. Now it is more of an excuse to leave the house in the afternoon. The drive for said coffee, like anything here, is absurdly long- usually 20 minutes- and the scenery is mostly a long unbroken chain of strip malls. My favorite drive leads me to downtown Fort Myers which has sidewalks and people using them, a seemingly abnormal sight for the rest of the area. I am enjoying the old Edison Theatre building pictured here. Converted into law offices in the 80’s, the entrance was locked when I tried to explore the other day. The only visible cinema remnants in the lobby, or at least what I could see through the glass doors, were an art deco wall decoration and a framed Rebel Without A Cause poster.
The Life and Times of A Half Dozen Medicore Bakery Cupcakes
I kept looking in the bedside drawer this morning. Today, of course, can now be labeled as Kodak Files for Chapter 11 Day. This news item has been discussed ad infinitum at this point, and it comes as no surprise to anyone. I’ve been dealing with the slow demise of film (and my emotional response to it) since I starting really caring about photography over a decade ago. What could I do about it really besides try to avoid being a stubborn luddite? As a photographer I am prone to obsessing over death and nostalgia anyways since it is automatically built into my medium. Despite my desire to always adapt and embrace the new, I have to admit it’s often a personal struggle. I can’t help feeling like somebody is always taking away important sensory joys from my life. It’s those little tactile luxuries that I always mourn: newsprint with my coffee, book pages, the different weights of darkroom paper, the emulsion side of a negative.
So for now I’ll continue to straddle both worlds until I’m forced out of the old one entirely. That means using whatever Kodak sheet film I can afford while also shooting with a 5D, scanning negatives with outdated technology, and visiting used bookstores until they no longer exist and I’m reading on screens more often than objects. I’ll also try and hold the other tactile stuff dear. After all, nobody’s taking away bread kneading and human contact from me yet.
No more holidays.
Chicago is now in strictly forced hibernation mode. You can forget how desolate and flat and gray it is during this time of year when you’re away. Before I left for Montreal everyone was quick to mention that it would be dark and sad up there in the winter. It didn’t seem too terrible-sure, it the weather wasn’t set to my Utopian Preferred Temperature but it didn’t feel have the same quiet feeling that it has here. Time to counteract cabin fever- AKA start random craft projects, let homemade yeast bread rise for 12 hours, and read long novels set in Russia.
My uncles had an old nativity scene on display this year for the first time. One of them insisted on an “accurate” portrayal of the event and hid Baby J inside Mary’s, um, cavity until Christmas.
Here it is, Saint Andre’s heart hanging out behind glass and a massive security system. It was stolen in 1973 from the church and later found in a basement of a Montreal apartment building thanks to an anonymous tipoff phone call. The heart was simply hanging out in a locker and still sealed in a reliquary.
