Two Memories

June 30th, 2014 § 0 comments

For something I dismissed, I remember it vividly. I came to dwell on it months, even years later when I realized with shocking dismay how pivotal my memory of that moment had been. It’s not too often in life that you know beyond doubt that nothing will ever be the same, that you yourself will never be as you were. We realize it later, when the future has unfolded and we can pinpoint in hindsight the moment when “everything” changed. Even so, memories are fickle and so malleable to our own desires that I’m not completely convinced of this one.

I remember that I wanted that moment to be like the scene from Almost Famous, when Zooey Deschanel’s character leaves home. The film came out in theaters when I was sixteen, two years before I moved to Chicago for college, and it made an impression. The soundtrack, the coming of age story, even if it was about a boy, resonated, and the film perfectly captured what it feels like to wait for your life to happen. I was a teenager always on the edge of my seat, hoping to force the future into existence through my own desire for it. I wish I could tell myself then to be patient, and that life, brutal and unexpected, would come.

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The Small Things…

April 1st, 2014 § 0 comments

Screen shot 2014-04-01 at 11.11.42 AM

On Aunts & Impending Aunthood

December 9th, 2013 § 0 comments

At a recent gallery opening a friend and I were discussing our impending entry into aunthood as both our brother’s wives are pregnant this winter, and I exclaimed half joking, “it’s a lot of pressure!” Obviously being an aunt is like being a babysitter compared to the pressures and weight of motherhood, and yet what lead me to the thought is how much I remember of my own aunts. My mom is the middle of three sisters, and while my aunts weren’t around as much as I hope to be for my already adored niece, I still have vivid memories of them reaching back as far as I can remember. Though they didn’t loom as large in my life as my grandfather or great grandmother, who together filled the void of having one grandpa and no grandmothers, my sporadic memories them range from the silly to the profound. Anyone you remember like that, who is a permanent if inconsistent fixture throughout your life, has played a role in shaping who you are, and the idea of being the shaper rather than the shaped is a daunting one. Thinking about what my niece might remember about me made me rethink what I remember of them.

grandpas house

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Tennis: A Healthy Obsession

October 24th, 2013 § 0 comments

In your loneliness, your preoccupation with an enduring new reality, you want to be understood in a way you can’t be. -Meghan O’Rourke 

It all began with my old boss. I’d moved to New York City a few years prior, and was working as a retoucher for a fashion company under an eccentric New Yorker who used to work for Rolling Stone. A sucker for anything new and different, I remember her talking about visiting the US Open one afternoon at work. Knowing nothing at all about tennis or the US Open, I didn’t even know what a Grand Slam was, it still sounded like something both local and necessary to do. The last behavioral remnant of being the youngest child, I still can’t stand being left out. I remember buying tickets to the quarterfinals, and trekking out to Flushing on a gray, rainy September morning with my somewhat new boyfriend in tow. I remember the massive size of Arthur Ashe stadium, the largest and windiest tennis arena in the world. We looked at the main draw and my significant other tried to make sense of the sea of names in front of us: the men’s match of the day featured Rafael Nadal. What I remember of that first visit is getting to see exactly seven minutes of tennis before the rain began. We spent the day at the Open regardless, shopping, drinking champagne and enjoying the grounds.

BILLIE JEAN KING (USA)

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7 Years: Dreaming of Ghosts

September 16th, 2013 § 1 comment

I always thought dreaming of the deceased would be wonderful, and there was a substantial period of time, many years ago, when I used to wish for it. For those dream moments I wouldn’t realize it wasn’t real, my mind would recreate you as I remember, just as it would formulate entirely new memories. We’d be talking about something we’d never discussed, or be someplace we never went. For that alone, any disappointment suffered upon waking would be worth the moments of ignorance and indulgence. In all the years that you’ve been gone, however, I’ve never been able to force a single dream. Now that I don’t wish for it, now that it’s no longer on my conscience mind, you seem to have slipped through into the cracks of my subconscious, and not too long ago I did dream of you.

musician-montpellier

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  • Excerpts

    The social structure that connects artists no longer resembles a secret revolutionary cell, where each member must be vetted and constantly risks expulsion. Today it is more like a nightclub, where admission depends on a doorman with a guest list in hand and an eye for mediagenic personalities. Entry depends less on one’s art than on the context in which it appears, on your place in the social network. — Art in America

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