Hello Friends,
I finally feel like I am at a good place with my personal website. Building into the principle of owning my data, I exported all my books from Goodreads and movies from Letterboxd on to my website.
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Teju Cole’s essays on the photography always left me with a much deeper understanding of the medium. This is him talking about making the invisible visible, John Berger and Chris Marker’s San Soleil.
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Alec Soth has played a large part in crafting my photographic practice. A collection of his works and process.
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Sol LeWitt letter to Eva Hesse on breaking through creative blocks
Just stop thinking, worrying, looking over your shoulder wondering, doubting, fearing, hurting, hoping for some easy way out, struggling, grasping, confusing, itchin, scratching, mumbling, bumbling, grumbling, humbling, stumbling, numbling, rumbling, gambling, tumbling, scumbling, scrambling, hitching, hatching, bitching, moaning, groaning, honing, boning, horse-shitting, hair-splitting, nit-picking, piss-trickling, nose sticking, ass-gouging, eyeball-poking, finger-pointing, alleyway-sneaking, long waiting, small stepping, evil-eyeing, back-scratching, searching, perching, besmirching, grinding, grinding, grinding away at yourself.
Stop it and just DO!
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I previously spoke about Brian Eno’s epiphany when he made the Windows 95 theme. A deeper look into how he allows serendipity into his work. His discography makes a large part of ambience playlist.
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If you thought the pasta you were making sucks. I can tell you from experimenting with the nicer (albeit slightly more expensive) brands, the brand makes or breaks a good pasta. Do yourself a favor and treat yourself to a nice one. (We tried La Molisana and it was a hit!)
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Audre Lorde’s “Uses of the Erotic”
The principal horror of any system which defines the good in terms of profit rather than in terms of human need, or which defines human need to the exclusion of the psychic and emotional components of that need – the principal horror of such a system is that it robs our work of its erotic value, its erotic power and life appeal and fulfilment. Such a system reduces work to a travesty of necessities, a duty by which we earn bread or oblivion for ourselves and those we love. But this is tantamount to blinding a painter and then telling her to improve her work, and to enjoy the act of painting. It is not only next to impossible, it is also profoundly cruel.
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I watched The Bear in one evening. The most tightly wound show dealing with grief, change and forgiveness.
Reading Joy Harjo's An American Sunrise and this poem took my breath away.
I was a thought, a dream, a fish, a wing
And then a human being
When I emerged from my mother's river
On my father's boat of potent fever
I carried a sack of dreams from a starlit dwelling
To be opened when I begin bleeding
There's a red dress, deerskin moccasins
The taste of berries made of promises
While the memories shift in their skins
At every moon, to do their ripening