Tip of the hat to Tyler over at MR for the pointer.
I'd want to see this in person.
A place like this would beg for literary attention. It just might bump the University of Washington's library, my favorite library at this point, by a spot.
Sunday, March 8, 2009
Pictures of Notice
Tip of the hat to Tyler over at MR for the pointer.
I'd want to see this in person.
A place like this would beg for literary attention. It just might bump the University of Washington's library, my favorite library at this point, by a spot.
Podcast on Clothing: Well-Clothed Friend
And posting this podcast today is quite apropos, I find.
To listen to my piece on the Text of Clothing, click here.
This podcast will be added to my iTunes series, Gendering the Media with Brikena Ribaj on the 18th of March.
I often write and podcast about the boredom bug which is so easily caught in Heteronormative-landia where one is bound to drown one’s self in curls of tweed, polyester, and high-priced leather.
Such bug, however, had no business in my space this weekend.
I was in the presence of rich textuality this weekend.
Certain kinds of clothing and color coordinations are so effective in grabbing my attention that I am utterly powerless when it comes to resisting my verbal need to address them.
I saw a friend of mine this weekend. I had not seen my friend in well over a decade. She looked like a whole decade had forgotten to pay her a personal visit.
I felt proud. Proud that my friend's aesthetics seemed so ignoring of time.
The memory I had of my friend was one of sophistication.
I revisited a memory of sophistication when she appeared in a tailored light green coat, an orange shirt, and urban pants cut in a timeless a-la-Katherine Hepburn style.
The cornucopia of colors was accompanied by the warm brown of her city purse.
“Wow!” I think to myself.
Nothing says ‘welcome’ the way a warm palette of colors does.
My sociality filters kicked in and I resisted doing what the good half says is what I tend to do naturally: look at things I react to aesthetically the way I do a Rembrandt at the Portland Museum of Arts.
My friend is now a formally trained designer.
In her case the professional choice makes full sense as she has married what she can do instinctually well with formal training.
As she is telling me about her professional pursuits, a thought comes to mind and I remember having an urge to write said thought down. It would be rude, however, to do what I generally do in my environment, i.e., write whenever the writing instinct wants to be sated. I tell myself to remember the thought. It basically said:
Eat your heart out, Rachel Zoe.
So, today, I write proudly yet again. I'm proud and grateful to have been in the presence of the kind of style where form is solid because it's rooted in healthy content.
As I am about to depart I ask:
"So, how can you gauge which colors are 'in' for which year?"
"I don't pay attention to time. What looks good, looks good." Says my friend.
"How Jackie O. meets modernity" I say.
And what made the experience so enjoyable was the fact that its fecundity gave me such productive food for thought.
Thank you for the creative space, friend.
To listen to my piece on the Text of Clothing, click here.
This podcast will be added to my iTunes series, Gendering the Media with Brikena Ribaj on the 18th of March.
I often write and podcast about the boredom bug which is so easily caught in Heteronormative-landia where one is bound to drown one’s self in curls of tweed, polyester, and high-priced leather.
Such bug, however, had no business in my space this weekend.
I was in the presence of rich textuality this weekend.
Certain kinds of clothing and color coordinations are so effective in grabbing my attention that I am utterly powerless when it comes to resisting my verbal need to address them.
I saw a friend of mine this weekend. I had not seen my friend in well over a decade. She looked like a whole decade had forgotten to pay her a personal visit.
I felt proud. Proud that my friend's aesthetics seemed so ignoring of time.
The memory I had of my friend was one of sophistication.
I revisited a memory of sophistication when she appeared in a tailored light green coat, an orange shirt, and urban pants cut in a timeless a-la-Katherine Hepburn style.
The cornucopia of colors was accompanied by the warm brown of her city purse.
“Wow!” I think to myself.
Nothing says ‘welcome’ the way a warm palette of colors does.
My sociality filters kicked in and I resisted doing what the good half says is what I tend to do naturally: look at things I react to aesthetically the way I do a Rembrandt at the Portland Museum of Arts.
My friend is now a formally trained designer.
In her case the professional choice makes full sense as she has married what she can do instinctually well with formal training.
As she is telling me about her professional pursuits, a thought comes to mind and I remember having an urge to write said thought down. It would be rude, however, to do what I generally do in my environment, i.e., write whenever the writing instinct wants to be sated. I tell myself to remember the thought. It basically said:
Eat your heart out, Rachel Zoe.
So, today, I write proudly yet again. I'm proud and grateful to have been in the presence of the kind of style where form is solid because it's rooted in healthy content.
As I am about to depart I ask:
"So, how can you gauge which colors are 'in' for which year?"
"I don't pay attention to time. What looks good, looks good." Says my friend.
"How Jackie O. meets modernity" I say.
And what made the experience so enjoyable was the fact that its fecundity gave me such productive food for thought.
Thank you for the creative space, friend.
The Text of Pink
This is what I saw last time I was up in Chicago.
It begged for attention and I had to give in. The text of pink, I call it.
The preponderance of pink is code for something here, I find.
This is a color/textile/aesthetic choice which this particular wearer finds apropos for quotidianity.
Mesmerizing.
How would you read this?
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