I'm now back in dear dirty Boston. The weather is nearly summer here, which is a strange thing for New England in January. I read something about a bear just north of Moscow who came out of hibernation after only about a week of sleep. I'm sure that's normal, right?
I've never been very good at "blogging." I wish I were better, sometimes, and then other times, most times, I guess, I don't really care. Though I do sometimes think that there are very nice and interesting and intelligent people around here that I might benefit from getting to know. I'm reluctant to spend too much time online, what with the world out there and everything.
I spent most of December in Charleston, SC. I realized more than ever that I miss the South. That it has spoiled me. It's hard right now to say exactly what it is: art or architecture or just the sweeping lowlands, the green green grass of home, or if it's something more or less than the combination of all the little parts and pieces.
Beginning this summer, my girlfriend and I will be putting everything we own into storage and we'll be taking a few cameras, some notebooks, changes of clothes, various tools deemed necessary for surviving in the world, an ever-revolving cast of novels, journals, picture books, cassette tapes and compacct discs, an atlas and a computer or two, most likely, and we'll be putting these little things into our 2001 Toyota Corolla who's name is Porche, and then we will spend one year living free and on the road and with no reservations. And from this year, maybe something good will happen. I am excited.
In Charleston, this house hasn't been occupied since 1946. They began tearing down some of the inside in order to restore it, turn it back into a residential space, when they found some kind of extremely rare and old and quite frankly hideous wallpaper underneath like 12 coatings of paint, which said wallpaper must be preserved because it is something along the lines of a historical document. I think they said from sometimes in the mid to late 1700's. I spent some time in the house taking pictures. It smelled like bat guano, and there was dust and shavings everywhere. All of the colors were very muted pastels and on the whole it was a very beautiful place that felt old and tucked away.
Two pieces of evidence:
I think today I may go to the new ICA and look at art that I don't understand. You are beautiful.
I've never been very good at "blogging." I wish I were better, sometimes, and then other times, most times, I guess, I don't really care. Though I do sometimes think that there are very nice and interesting and intelligent people around here that I might benefit from getting to know. I'm reluctant to spend too much time online, what with the world out there and everything.
I spent most of December in Charleston, SC. I realized more than ever that I miss the South. That it has spoiled me. It's hard right now to say exactly what it is: art or architecture or just the sweeping lowlands, the green green grass of home, or if it's something more or less than the combination of all the little parts and pieces.
Beginning this summer, my girlfriend and I will be putting everything we own into storage and we'll be taking a few cameras, some notebooks, changes of clothes, various tools deemed necessary for surviving in the world, an ever-revolving cast of novels, journals, picture books, cassette tapes and compacct discs, an atlas and a computer or two, most likely, and we'll be putting these little things into our 2001 Toyota Corolla who's name is Porche, and then we will spend one year living free and on the road and with no reservations. And from this year, maybe something good will happen. I am excited.
In Charleston, this house hasn't been occupied since 1946. They began tearing down some of the inside in order to restore it, turn it back into a residential space, when they found some kind of extremely rare and old and quite frankly hideous wallpaper underneath like 12 coatings of paint, which said wallpaper must be preserved because it is something along the lines of a historical document. I think they said from sometimes in the mid to late 1700's. I spent some time in the house taking pictures. It smelled like bat guano, and there was dust and shavings everywhere. All of the colors were very muted pastels and on the whole it was a very beautiful place that felt old and tucked away.
Two pieces of evidence:
I think today I may go to the new ICA and look at art that I don't understand. You are beautiful.
VIEW 11 of 11 COMMENTS
the level of severity depends on who performed it..
surprisingly enough i did actually find a bunch of christmas songs that i could stand..
and i compiled them into two cds.. something i would never do.. but after being forced to listen to the same renditions over and over again.. i needed to do something.. for the sake of my sanity if nothing more..
also.. we would love to have you two visit..
we don't have many friends and it would be fun