tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26702900824345092522024-03-22T00:33:19.388-04:00a knock at the doorJessinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03887560839425892037noreply@blogger.comBlogger221125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2670290082434509252.post-84913568389315299062022-08-29T22:14:00.002-04:002022-08-29T22:14:45.614-04:00<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEit51lk3LR5XXOQNqGnO-HIqQAcBdBev26X5B-ky1cAWeoiO2pgKrRW1WB6Hwfl3xbW1lJA02gWzenOwVpDEz7FUclDEsMb6-Rhr52xW5MrQIwqfVI50vjs7LUR03o8LCvOWybpQRnLXl5SwpPE7QHAls9zzEM1QeHYsUzQeVAXZBE51Pe0SprIsCPq/s1440/LaRicotta.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1440" data-original-width="960" height="747" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEit51lk3LR5XXOQNqGnO-HIqQAcBdBev26X5B-ky1cAWeoiO2pgKrRW1WB6Hwfl3xbW1lJA02gWzenOwVpDEz7FUclDEsMb6-Rhr52xW5MrQIwqfVI50vjs7LUR03o8LCvOWybpQRnLXl5SwpPE7QHAls9zzEM1QeHYsUzQeVAXZBE51Pe0SprIsCPq/w499-h747/LaRicotta.jpeg" width="499" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Pasolini, La Ricotta, 1962</div><p></p>Jessinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03887560839425892037noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2670290082434509252.post-9468947290170497312021-10-27T12:47:00.006-04:002021-10-27T12:48:27.818-04:00on prayer | 21<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3EkBVHiEZ_shRgffSrnXfVBUUSJrq0dfPzu5O5lRab6ssPXdZg2e_Y9jQMQxkQw6VnBj1BBiREIJNUmZSu5Virqmzt9l3YGBO1Ax46_HaDRwfOxsZ6LWqk7WzpnYUhyphenhyphenOijux1SqkrGjs/s1194/Screen+Shot+2021-10-25+at+11.02.16+PM.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="898" data-original-width="1194" height="482" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3EkBVHiEZ_shRgffSrnXfVBUUSJrq0dfPzu5O5lRab6ssPXdZg2e_Y9jQMQxkQw6VnBj1BBiREIJNUmZSu5Virqmzt9l3YGBO1Ax46_HaDRwfOxsZ6LWqk7WzpnYUhyphenhyphenOijux1SqkrGjs/w640-h482/Screen+Shot+2021-10-25+at+11.02.16+PM.png" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzwA1cPIyz82VdpQrfkj6W3zzsN3mWEokHwuB5kaQUfzzuGjLPejsZKPLkHGsZem77CG6NxjyVVyTkZrdDRrEEevJmAPD5SDYCd5UJk2V9FMkfTObwM2oLmPOjzXnCKFbvpSqKYGBbuQs/s1203/Screen+Shot+2021-10-25+at+11.01.56+PM.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1203" height="478" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzwA1cPIyz82VdpQrfkj6W3zzsN3mWEokHwuB5kaQUfzzuGjLPejsZKPLkHGsZem77CG6NxjyVVyTkZrdDRrEEevJmAPD5SDYCd5UJk2V9FMkfTObwM2oLmPOjzXnCKFbvpSqKYGBbuQs/w640-h478/Screen+Shot+2021-10-25+at+11.01.56+PM.png" width="640" /></a></div><br /> from <i>Ordet</i>, Carl Theodor Dreyer, 1955<br /><br />Jessinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03887560839425892037noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2670290082434509252.post-38645053990960155212020-12-19T18:10:00.003-05:002020-12-19T18:12:08.873-05:00bests of the summer<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijk3RwZtdjpFtnR-FXaqZPAc4z5iC5dbmJaRKIb5hyphenhyphenIn3MxWS0WeHIDXojSbUZA3rYeyxu0gzKV-3zGhdFaTyVIBv4eLxcThr42PBo4BOJ2-ZbB8pDqQJ992A1av-DDNAKIPRQrI-ln6o/s2048/IMG_9522+2.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="2048" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijk3RwZtdjpFtnR-FXaqZPAc4z5iC5dbmJaRKIb5hyphenhyphenIn3MxWS0WeHIDXojSbUZA3rYeyxu0gzKV-3zGhdFaTyVIBv4eLxcThr42PBo4BOJ2-ZbB8pDqQJ992A1av-DDNAKIPRQrI-ln6o/w640-h640/IMG_9522+2.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div>a weird, terrible, no-good summer, the worst of my life, and yet there was still much to be thankful for:<p></p><div style="text-align: center;">lincolnville motel, what a dream // birthday wine from drifter's wife // homemade sourdough bagels // just the very fact of getting a dream job, even if i couldn't accept it // WALDEN POND, over and over and over // melissa & travis // charcuterie on our cabin porch in maine // reverse pull-ups // pizza pizza pizza // kate zambreno // peckhams' greenhouse in little compton // my geranium plant, a real joy // last days with the coyles // a rhode island summer, just what i wanted // my first NYC exhibit // rachel cusk // floating in the pool // a bouquet for graduation // washing the new car in the driveway with mom and dad, a deeply familiar task // our own hatchback // a spontaneous nc trip // jean & rosie // madness, rack and honey // chase's daily, three days in a row // LIME ROCK, a refuge // a surprise birthday hike // oyster river winegrowers // my desk overlooking sheldon st. // fulbright miracles, julia bee // michael and mirjiam's backyard on the fourth of july // moving the mattress into our living room on the hottest nights to be near the ac unit, like a slumber party // a banner for maya // burnt honey ice cream // all the ice cream from big feeling // pozole // tamales from dolores // derek in pvd, at last // homemade waffles // sachuest point nature preserve // jane & ernie's back porch on a sunday afternoon // running again // a text from nick, that bit of hope at the end after all</div><p><span style="font-size: x-small;">[austin at walden pond, our first trip]</span></p>Jessinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03887560839425892037noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2670290082434509252.post-44183962938245018822020-01-11T13:00:00.000-05:002020-01-11T13:00:16.158-05:00bests of the summer<div class="separator" style="clear: both; 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the loops // PROCIDA // gianna // accidentally biking the entire east bay bike path // homemade sourdough pizza // rosemary tornelli with apertivo // bolsena, again // spike ball with teigue and john at india point park // india point park every single day // mark doty // cape cod // biking with heather // the ripest cantaloupe // go-karting for dad's 60th // grad formal // fleabag // alligator anxiety // craigslist rug // thunder in florida, that deeply familiar sound // briley's enthusiastic sea turtle lecture // sea turtles in the moonlight on the beach // aly & shona, their laughter // manatees and green flies // heavy palms, almost as heavy as the air itself // homemade strawberry granita // "the heart is a repository of vanished things" // the scent of orvieto – old stone, jasmine and overly-perfumed italians // my tower apartment, all to myself // un cappuccino e due biscotti // catherine's head at san domenico // focaccia con pomodoro in foligno // breakfast with emma in munich // HELFTA // sister pauline and sister christiane // els' eyes, the spirit of god // bored afternoon trips to intimissimi // frantumaglia in one weekend alone // "to tolerate existence we lie, and we lie above all to ourselves" // evenings at barcaro with austin // prosciutto tortellini with arugula made on our hotplate, over and over again // discovering the upstairs patio at febo // meeting austin at the orvieto train station // getting to share somewhere i love with someone i love // how i always feel most beautiful in italy, sun-kissed and sweaty // the nuns outside of buon gésu: your face, a sacrament // the patio at freni e frizioni in trastevere and all the free food // and rome, a city i barely know and deeply love // the blue glasses at cassetta nonna maria in procida // aperol spritz // the velvet green of the ocean in procida // riding the waves // cat's eye blue // ludovica and insalata di limone // seeing donato sarratore // a carafe of rosé with melissa // scraping together coins for the church carnival down the street // train to philly // jia tolentino // buck meek // how this could go on and on</div>
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such a strange summer of such overwhelming joy and also a turn of despair – but it's too much, all of this. i do not know where it ends. i could keep listing good things – and keep thinking: it's too much.<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">[our kitchen at cassetta nonna maria, mamiya 7]</span><br />
<br />Jessinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03887560839425892037noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2670290082434509252.post-29661054390026933242019-08-12T14:50:00.000-04:002019-08-12T14:50:02.316-04:00nel limoneto<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I'm still convinced blogs are the best form of social media – if they count? – despite my lack of presence here. </div>
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I am back from several weeks abroad and filled with gratitude. I turned twenty-seven, an otherwise odd and boring age, on an island off the coast of Naples. There are too many good things to write about, so I will just write about one, which A. and I keep referring to as "the loops." On our bike ride home from dinner on my birthday, we decided we wanted to bike a little further and so turned right instead of left back to the cottage where we were staying. We headed up a quiet hill and kept going before realizing it made one big loop before sending us down the hill again. When we got to the bottom, I said, "let's do it again," which we did, and then another time too. A. says he was whooping with joy. We had the streets entirely to ourselves and it felt like we were navigating a race course, following the curves of those narrow streets on our speedy bikes. It was the simple joy of childhood, that sense of freedom, of warm wind passing over your hands and up your arms, of the focused attention required to avoid potholes and take each curve, of the silence of the night air and the awareness that your companion is right behind you.<br />
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For these moments, small as they are, I am full.<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">[pictured: a stop on our bike ride, earlier in the day, overlooking the porto]</span><br />
<br />Jessinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03887560839425892037noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2670290082434509252.post-44308383053893251122018-12-19T10:52:00.000-05:002018-12-19T10:52:59.064-05:00bests of the summer<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Because I am woman of habit, I have to keep these things up, even when it's months late –<br />
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bear island, nothing better // meeting rosie // lemongrass cider at surf club with amber d., over and over // and having a female friend to talk to about politics // SIMON // franny's poetry reading // mepkin abbey, always // <i>you are a god of seeing </i>// sunrise walk on the beach with a. // jamila woods in person // breakfast tacos with derek // alexandra's birthday party // a day in durham with elsa, soren, + torunn // walking home drunk with tor // all my best lady pals together on a blanket // margaret's fairy houses // lazy sunday afternoons at bobbit's hole // my native flower garden (ugh, I miss it) // brewery bhahavana + banana walnut cake with a. // murakami for the first time // the ymca pool // a grocery store cake "in the colors of RISD" from holy family folks // cajun dance in a furniture-maker's barn // jean's baptism // whale-watching in maine with my family // that early, early morning alone watching the sunrise in portland // ACADIA // strawberry granita // touring apartments in providence with mom // sweetest gift + note from max // sitting on the rocks on belle isle in richmond // tea parties with margaret // best, best durham birthday party // penland, a gift // the clientele // living with kendra, ryan, langdon, and elias for two weeks // mary karr // birthday rosemary grapefruit drinking vinegar + morning buns // best birthday overall with the best people // getting back in the darkroom and remembering why I love photography // grilled cheese with tomato jam // our backyard picnic table, even if short-lived (v. worth it) // new swimsuit, first bikini // mornings with amber j. at penland // just amber in general // pizza + whiskey with frank // <i>by each try to simply merit the fitness of a lone occasion </i>// things coming to an end, things coming toward a beginning</div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>[pictured: flowers from my garden <3]</i></span></div>
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Jessinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03887560839425892037noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2670290082434509252.post-77029828666501683812018-09-14T08:50:00.000-04:002018-09-14T08:50:54.868-04:00I always found you there<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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So, I made it to Rhode Island – now trying to make stuff, the reason that I'm here! Before I left, I met with one of my mentors for coffee to say thank you (something I'm trying to do better and more often, saying <i>thank you</i>) and she told me when I get to my new studio to leave all the walls blank. Don't put up any of my old work or pictures that I 'succeeded' with before or felt good about. Don't even look at them. If you look at them, she said, you'll be tempted to just go back to what worked before and be less likely to take creative risks. So that's what I'm doing and I'm f*ing scared that everything I'm making is really stupid but I am trying to stick with it, keep moving forward, ask the questions later and just play with materials and make images that I like. Here's to reminding myself of that here, permanently.</div>
<br />Jessinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03887560839425892037noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2670290082434509252.post-85876753066122299932018-07-30T22:49:00.000-04:002018-07-30T22:49:31.570-04:00twenty-six<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Here I am, twenty-six years old, for some reason still posting pictures and writing in this space, one of the many ways I journal and log and record – maybe the reason I am into photography in the first place, because <i>memory </i>fascinates me. But, here I am, at such a different place than I was last year, more sure of myself than I have ever been before, more grateful too, more certain of God's faithfulness: less so from the good things that this year has brought and more because it was the hard year before it that brought the good things. To stay on this side of anger and the other side of sadness, that is what I keep coming back to – tough spirit, tender heart.</div>
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A few weekends back, in Asheville, with some of the people I love most in the world. I feel so lucky to get to live life with these folks – and their children!<br />
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It is a Sunday night. A. and I had frozen pizza, greens, and margaritas for dinner, then he went on solo bike ride and I took a long bath and walked to the co-op for frozen yogurt. As I think about moving at the end of the summer, one thing I will miss is that walk – a brief hello to Charles, checking in on the garden at the one house at the corner of Burch and Exum, the magnolia tree at the corner of Wilkerson, pausing to cross Chapel Hill Street. And then, of course, there is the sweet comfort of grocery shopping, something I'll never quite be able to explain. I <i>love </i>it – seeing what's new, comparing prices, lifting each grapefruit to see which one is the heaviest and juiciest. <i>Do the radishes look good today? Is the ice cream on sale? Should I get the chocolate with cacao nibs or almonds? </i>Unlike so many of life's questions, these are questions I can always answer.<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">[all 35mm, Asheville, NC]</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span>Jessinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03887560839425892037noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2670290082434509252.post-58911629996949485552018-06-13T18:46:00.000-04:002018-06-13T18:46:37.802-04:00bear island<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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We booked a camping site a month or so ahead of time, hoping that we could take a day off work and go to the beach – so glad we made it happen. We had the whole island to ourselves, the best mac and cheese made over a camp stove, and a long, long morning walk on the beach. I am dreaming of getting back here before we move.</div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">[Bear Island, Hammocks Beach State Park, all 35mm]</span></div>
<br />Jessinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03887560839425892037noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2670290082434509252.post-20380248287852649952018-03-07T22:07:00.000-05:002018-03-07T22:07:07.809-05:00two years<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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We spent three glorious fall days in Portland, Maine last October, a tag-on anniversary celebration after spending a few days in Boston visiting grad schools.<br />
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And, two years of marriage! (Two years and four months, now.) I tried to write about marriage so much in our first six months being married before realizing I had absolutely <i>nothing</i> to say. It was all so new, so unknown, and there was so much to process and try to understand about myself, much less another human being. I just didn't know how to think about it yet. When people asked me how married life was going, I found I just told them made-up things to assuage their questioning.<br />
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But, maybe, now – I'd like to think – I'm coming into it. I know I can say this, at least: marriage has been a safe place for me to grow in confidence in myself, and for that I am grateful. I think that is what marriage should be – not your everything, but the most safe kind of love, along with being a marked reminder of dying to yourself anew every day. I think of this line from Auden: "Afraid of our living task, the dying / which the coming day will ask." Marriage is a risk, a stepping boldly into that fear, into that risk of dying to self, even still as you grow more deeply into yourself. (Of course, there are plenty of ways to do that besides marriage – but it is one way.)<br />
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That's my two cents for two years, anyhow. Mainly, I like being married to Austin.<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">[all 35mm from Portland and some surrounding islands]</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span>Jessinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03887560839425892037noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2670290082434509252.post-62617322888087529112018-02-07T20:08:00.001-05:002018-02-07T20:08:28.177-05:00put a fence around it<br />
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<a href="http://www.twinfactory.co.uk/index.php/the-images-that-shaped-a-vision-with-emma-tillman/">This article</a>, and the listed photographers, especially Graciela Iturbine. I should make my own list of photographers who have shaped my vision.<br />
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This <a href="http://needsupply.com/womens/brands/baserange/long-strap-overall-2.html">jumper</a> – what a dream.<br />
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These words, which I have been thinking about all week:<br />
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"Now it seemed so horrible to me. And didn’t it explain everything? But I had never wanted to be one person, or even believed that I was one, so I had never considered the true singularity of anyone else. I said to myself, You are only given one. The one you are given is the one to put a fence around. Life is not a harvest. Just because you have an apple doesn’t mean you have an orchard. You have an apple. Put a fence around it. Once you have put a fence around everything you value, then you have the total circle of your heart.”<br />
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– Sheila Heti, <i>How Should A Person Be?</i><br />
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I witnessed a birth for the first time last week, and I am still putting my mind around it – and yet, how different it is to witness than experience yourself! But LIFE, BIRTH, wow, it's so crazy. A human inside of another human, life in life, life <i>from</i> life.<br />
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[Hamilton, ON, 35mm]<br />
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Jessinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03887560839425892037noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2670290082434509252.post-27516248740510995682017-11-22T11:35:00.002-05:002017-11-22T11:44:57.141-05:00just this side of anger, and on the other side of sadness<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Somewhere near San Luigi dei Francesi in Rome on one of the most recent happiest days of my life – I was traveling alone, so this is the only picture I have of myself from that day of wandering.<br />
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I am particularly grateful today for mentors and friends who speak so clearly into my life, just when I need it. If you saw me weeping yesterday, it was probably because I just received this:<br />
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<i>Prayer for Jessina<br /><br />Father, I pray for Your child, as if she were my child: but I dare to ask - that if I am actually addressing her - through You - that You are the One doing the talking. Or at least getting a Word in.<br /><br />And so I ask this:<br />That You not set her faithfulness against her hopes.<br />That - in Your very gentle way - You are unsparing in Your claim - on her - </i><br />
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<i>on all the things You’ve given her; to attend to.<br />That’s a hard prayer. And You are not a hard master.<br />She knows - better than I - what those things are.<br />So may she find, in her circumstances, en famille, in the Circle of her loves - and Yours: </i></div>
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<i>may she find support: not that support that shuts down, that “pacifies," that places her at the bottom of a deep, dark pool: but the support that stirs up, like the salt spray, the tang and the splash of her deepest yearnings.</i></div>
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<i><br />Those desires are there for a purpose: not just to anchor her: but to set her free.</i><br />
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It is has been a strange new season of life these past few months – I hate using the word 'season,' and always have, as it seems to indicate some sense of 'this is what was meant to be,' or waiting circumstances out rather than taking active steps or problem-solving – but I can't think of a more fitting word right now. I feel like I am coming into myself, that for so long I talked up a big game – told myself that I was strong and intelligent and beautiful, etc. – without actually believing it. </div>
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I think we all do that in our own way, hoping that if we say it enough maybe we'll inch towards believing it. It seems like in any career you have to be able talk bigger about yourself in order to get anywhere. It is that sense of talking 'bigger,' but more than that, not only taking up space but feeling like it is <i>your </i>space, that you belong there – that is what I am trying to get at. </div>
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That I belong <i>here </i><i>– </i>I know it more now than I ever have before.</div>
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<i>There is a new expression on your face: more determined, but not (yet?) hard. I pray you can stay there, just this side of anger, and on the other side of sadness: and right in the middle of strength: real strength. </i><br />
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Jessinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03887560839425892037noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2670290082434509252.post-11190719051774931342017-11-19T19:31:00.000-05:002017-11-19T19:31:26.363-05:00for molly and summer<br />
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A long time ago, a friend and I were walking home at dusk along College Avenue in Berkeley and she asked me what I thought were the essential things in life, those things that made life worth living. We started making a list, framing it as what we would tell our daughters someday. It has been a long while since I have looked back at it –<br />
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We will use cloth napkins.<br />
We will have compost piles.<br />
We will make love to good men.<br />
We will pray for peace in the world.<br />
We will try and be peacemakers in our own world.<br />
We will go by ourselves to fancy restaurants.<br />
We will not make excuses for spontaneity.<br />
We will have slow meals late into the evening.<br />
We will have open doors to friends and strangers alike.<br />
We will try new recipes often.<br />
We will have successful careers.<br />
We will be willing to give those up to be mothers.<br />
We will not let the allure of success control our lives.<br />
We will be bold when love requires boldness.<br />
We will be meek when love requires meekness.<br />
We will see everything as an opportunity to practice virtue.<br />
We will have art on our walls.<br />
We will stop during the day to sit and stare at it.<br />
We will make our own art for our walls.<br />
We will write long letters to far away friends.<br />
We will hum as we wash the dishes.<br />
We will say yes as often as possible.<br />
We will say no when necessary.<br />
We will go to the ballet in the city on a whim.<br />
We will wear lumpy sweaters and red lipstick when we're old.<br />
We will be sexy mothers before we grow old.<br />
We will live in a place where we can walk to the grocery store.<br />
We will walk or bike instead of drive as often as possible.<br />
We will take care of our bodies.<br />
We will not be ashamed of our bodies.<br />
We will grow large gardens.<br />
We will bring our children to museums.<br />
We will never be too old to keep learning.<br />
We will have front porches and sit on them often.<br />
We will teach our children to love traveling.<br />
We will teach our children to love rootedness.<br />
We will make eye contact with the world.<br />
We will learn new skills with each year's coming.<br />
We will dance in the kitchen.<br />
We will stop the car to pick flowers on the side of the road.<br />
We will drop to our knees, everyday.<br />
We will listen to our mothers with patience.<br />
We will give grace to ourselves, and grace to others.<br />
We will choose others before ourselves, without forsaking ourselves.<br />
We will come into the peace of wild things as often as possible.<br />
<br />Jessinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03887560839425892037noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2670290082434509252.post-8746792455081551242017-09-24T21:29:00.000-04:002017-09-25T19:35:47.702-04:00bests of the summer<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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though this has been a pretty shitty summer, there's still much to be grateful for:</div>
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blackberry shrub // our five-year old neighbor, jésus // walking downtown // winning the co-op's grocery giveaway // BOBBIT HOLE // tacos in philly with derek // birthday kayaking + rosé // twin peaks // fireworks on every street in chicago // lula's in logan square, twice // going back to where we had our first kiss // cardamom-sugared churros // the best kitchen sink // that perfect salad at the bread bar in hamilton // learning to like olives // jason molina reunion show // that bun at fika // the bright yellow walls of kira's room // ed ruscha at the nasher // and afternoon walks to the nasher // walking to rose's // LADIES' WEEKEND // spontaneously stopping at the botanical gardens in richmond for the solar eclipse // charcuterie boards for dinner // mark jarman and marie howe // kensington market in toronto // bar brunello with amy when she came to visit // working hard // max in town // valley forge with mom and dad // big thief // driving to charlottesville // niagara falls // "work harder, don't complain, spend more time alone" // mepkin abbey, where i am at peace // mossy banners // biking more // talking about pictures with fred, jaheim, jonathan and julian // how our new street looks like that one gordon parks photograph // drinking wine and reading that one night while amy cooked dinner for us // joan didion and marilynne robinson // singing the sanctus at holy family</div>
<br />Jessinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03887560839425892037noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2670290082434509252.post-8896234652087520832017-07-23T17:00:00.002-04:002017-07-23T17:00:57.813-04:00the air is light blue today<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Listening to <a href="http://www.thefader.com/2017/07/19/florist-what-i-wanted-to-hold-premiere">this song all day long</a>.<br />
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I really love <a href="http://store.cinefamily.org/cinefamilyeditions/chantal-akerman-tote">this bag</a>.<br />
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And Sarah Coakley:<br />
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"What also follows is that the silence of contemplation is of a particular <i>sui generis</i> form: it is not the silence of being silenced. Rather, it is the voluntary silence of attention, transformation, mysterious interconnection and (in violent, abusive, or oppressive contexts) rightful and divinely empowered resistance: it is a special 'power-in-vulnerability,' as I have elsewhere called it. Contemplation engenders courage to give voice, but in a changed, prophetic key."<br />
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(<i>God, Sexuality, and the Self</i>)<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">[Joshua Tree, January 2017, 35mm]</span><br />
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Jessinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03887560839425892037noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2670290082434509252.post-86210641326468896962017-06-25T20:32:00.000-04:002017-06-25T20:32:53.319-04:00eleven zero one<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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We are moving into a new home this week and leaving behind our yellow house, a space that (minus the cockroaches) has been comfort and safety to me these past two years. I slipped on my wedding dress for the very first time in the bedroom, and a few months later put it on with my mother and sister by my side in that same room. It is the home Austin and I first came home to after our honeymoon, and the place where we have grown in love and understanding for one another. We have argued in this house, planted rosemary and lavender and mint in the front yard, built a raised bed with our own hands, strung lights in our backyard, hosted any number of bonfires and parties. We have filled this space with friends, over and over again, on air mattresses and at the dinner table, the leaves extended to fit as many people as possible.<br />
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I rode my bike by the yellow house a random hot spring afternoon in 2015, and thought, <i>I want to live there</i>. I memorized the address and looked it up online when I got home, and found out that it was a rental property, and due to be up for lease come the month that I needed to move. But, the realty company wasn't sure the current tenants would be moving. I spent that next month praying and riding my bike by it almost every day. I called the realty company every week to see if there were any updates, and finally heard word that it would actually be up for rent. It was a little more expensive than we anticipated, but a friend told us to go for it, that the first house that you live in as a married couple carries deep and meaningful memories, and that it would be worth it. So we did.<br />
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It wasn't until later that I noticed that the address <i>1101</i> was also our wedding date, November 1st—a silly coincidence, but one that makes me happy, and makes it seem fitting that it has been our first married house.<br />
<br />Jessinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03887560839425892037noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2670290082434509252.post-84217174466110468772017-06-19T21:19:00.000-04:002017-06-19T21:36:49.081-04:00april + may books<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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1. <i>Love in the Time of Cholera</i> by Gabriel García Márquez<br />
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In the span of a month, I had three people (two strangers!) tell me this was their favorite book, so I took that as a sign I should read it. The novel chronicles the forbidden young love of Florentino Ariza and Fermina Daza, the latter whom eventually marries another man, a doctor, after much persuasion from her father. Márquez contrasts Dr. Urbino—a modern, rational man—with the wild and emotional love of Florentino Ariza, who remains devoted (albeit with quite a number of trysts) to Fermina Daza, even into old age. I don't know if I would say <i>Love in the Time of Cholera</i> is <i>my </i>favorite book, but definitely worth the read.</div>
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2. <i>Playing in the Dark: Whiteness and the Literary Imagination</i> by Toni Morrison</div>
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I'll let Toni Morrison sum it up: "These speculations have led me to wonder whether the major and championed characteristics of our national literature—individualism; masculinity; social engagement vs. historical isolation; acute and ambiguous moral problematics; the thematics of innocence coupled with an obsession with figurations of death and hell—are not in fact responses to a dark, abiding signing Africanist presence. It has occurred to me that the very manner by which American literature distinguishes itself as a coherent entity exists because of this unsettled and unsettling population."</div>
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3. <i>Duino Elegies</i> by Rainer Maria Rilke, trans. by Edward Snow</div>
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It has been awhile since I carried around Rilke <i>(Book of Hours</i>) in my bag everywhere I went, and I thought I had 'outgrown' him, worn him out along with every other like-minded student at my college. <i>Duino Elegies </i>reminded me that I will never outgrow Rilke. I keep coming back to these words, especially: "Here is the time for the sayable, <i>here </i>is its home. / Speak and attest."</div>
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4. <span style="background-color: white; color: #565156; font-family: "gfs didot"; font-size: 14.3px;"> </span><i>Putting Art (Back) In Its Place</i> by John Skillen</div>
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I was glad to read this delightful and necessary book by a friend and mentor. Focusing on the visual culture of medieval and Renaissance Italy, Skillen argues how art in lived spaces guides communities together into their shared calling. With ample examples and a call for the contemporary Church to return to this model, Skillen evades falling into nostalgia—though at times it seems his target audience is a first-year college student with little understanding of liturgy or history.</div>
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5. <i>The Sabbath</i> by Abraham Joshua Heschel</div>
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A quick, simple read—Heschel writes like a poet: "The meaning of the Sabbath is to celebrate time rather than space. Six days a week we live under the tyranny of things of space; on the Sabbath we try to become attuned to <i>holiness in time</i>. It is a day on which we are called upon to share in what is eternal in time, to turn from the results of creation to the mystery of creation; from the world of creation to the creation of the world."</div>
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Jessinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03887560839425892037noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2670290082434509252.post-61820349413311134482017-06-15T12:13:00.000-04:002017-06-15T15:19:17.219-04:00on prayer | 20<br />
"Such a deepening of vision will eventually also involve at some point a profound sense of the mind's darkening, and of a disconcerting reorientation of the senses - these being inescapable fallouts from the commitment to prayer that sustains such a view of the theological enterprise. The willingness to endure a form of naked dispossession before God; the willingness to surrender control (not to any human power, but solely to God's power); the willingness to accept the arid vacancy of simple waiting on God in prayer; the willingness at the same time to accept disconcerting bombardments from the realm of the 'unconscious;' all these are ascetical tests of contemplation without which no epistemic or spiritual deepening can start to occur. What distinguishes this position, then, from an array of other 'post-foundationalist' options that currently present themselves in theology is the commitment to the discipline of particular graced bodily practices which, over the long haul, afford certain distinctive ways of knowing."<br />
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(Sarah Coakley, <i>God, Sexuality, and the Self</i>)<br />
<br />Jessinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03887560839425892037noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2670290082434509252.post-9768443865006036382017-05-09T17:58:00.002-04:002017-05-09T18:00:50.309-04:00our dark greens of meaning<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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"What if we're here just for saying: <i>house,</i></div>
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<i>bridge, fountain, gate, jug, fruit tree, window,</i> —</div>
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at most: <i>column, tower </i>. . . but for saying, understand,</div>
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oh for such saying as the things themselves</div>
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never hoped so intensely to be. Isn't this the sly purpose</div>
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of the taciturn earth, when it urges lovers on:</div>
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that in their passion each single thing should find ecstasy?"</div>
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"How we waste our afflictions!<br />
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We study them, stare out beyond them into bleak continuance,</div>
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hoping to glimpse some end. Whereas they're really</div>
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our wintering foliage, our dark greens of meaning, one</div>
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of the seasons of the clandestine year—; not only</div>
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a season—: they're site, settlement, shelter, soil, abode."</div>
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R.M. Rilke, <i>Duino Elegies</i></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">[New Orleans, disposable film, 2014]</span></div>
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Jessinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03887560839425892037noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2670290082434509252.post-69519237806062323882017-05-06T12:17:00.000-04:002017-05-06T12:17:08.184-04:00we don't love like flowers<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I am sitting at the studio where I work, "woman-ing" (as my boss says) the gallery for the Saturday brunch hours. A. and I slept in for the first time in a very long while and went to the farmers' market and ate lemon poppyseed muffins on a bench and talked about naming our future dog Poppy<i>, </i>which <i>almost</i> makes me want to get a dog. We are in an in-between space, frantically trying to figure out jobs and housing and whether or not we are staying in or leaving Durham. Everything feels fragile. A trip to the farmers' market at once feels sentimental (if we leave) and boring (if we stay).</div>
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I have been inching my way through John Berger's <i>Portraits</i>, reading an essay most mornings with my coffee, and being reminded how much I love reading about art. My two main goals for this year were really just to (a) read more and (b) take pictures. I have been doing both, and it feels right. It feels like where I ought to be. </div>
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We have fennel and leeks and lettuce and peas and basil in our garden, and the first thing I do each morning is walk into the kitchen, open the blinds, and look out on the raised bed to see if anything looks bigger than the day before. They rarely do, but there is great joy when the fennel looks just the slightest bit healthier and larger, or the leeks look rounder and more robust.</div>
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These words have been on my mind:</div>
<br />"Let us return, then, to that anointing of his, let us return to that anointing that teaches within what we cannot speak; and because you cannot see now, let your role be found in longing. The whole life of a good Christian is a holy longing. But what you long for you do not see, but by longing you are made capacious so that when what you are to see has come, you may be filled...So God, by postponing, stretches the longing, by longing stretches the soul, by stretching makes it capacious. Let us long, therefore, brothers, because we are going to be filled.”<div>
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(Augustine, Tractate 4 on 1 John 2:27-39)</div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">[The Guggenheim in NYC last November, 35mm]</span></div>
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Jessinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03887560839425892037noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2670290082434509252.post-29837923483927812882017-04-26T12:36:00.001-04:002017-04-26T12:36:25.958-04:00march books<br />
Last month's books, even as we are nearing the end of this month:<br />
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1. <i>The Fire Next Time</i> by James Baldwin<br />
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I bought this after seeing the recent documentary about James Baldwin, and I wish I would have read it sooner. It is sharp and convicting and beautiful. Baldwin's central point is that "whatever white people do not know about Negroes reveals, precisely and inexorably, what they do not know about themselves." Baldwin's call is to unmask ourselves and to face the reality of the racial nightmare in America: "We are capable of bearing a great burden, once we discover that the burden is reality and arrive where reality is." Baldwin's words have given me ways of thinking about what it means <i>for me</i> to be white in America today—which says something for the truth of his diagnosis, seeing that it is some fifty years since the original publication.<br />
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2.<i> Red Brick, Black Mountain, White Clay: Reflections on Art, Family, and Survival</i> by Christopher Benfey<br />
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I read this during a quick weekend trip to visit friends in Asheville: a memoir and travelogue by the great-nephew of Josef and Anni Albers. It was exciting to read about Black Mountain College while in those particular mountains, and to learn more about the history of a place that has long-fascinated me. While at times the narrative gets lost in Benfey's rather uninteresting family history, Benfey's writing is at its best when he talks about the nature of ceramics, and the way clay, like no other medium, must be surrendered to the laws of nature. The handle on a ceramic pot, Benfey writes, "marks the journey from one world to the other; it is the suspension bridge from the world of art to the world of use.”<br />
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3. <i>Autobiography of Red</i> by Anne Carson<br />
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What a delightfully strange book! I am still not sure what to make of it, though I think I could spend a full day thinking about nearly every line of this epic poem. I am speaking of phrases like this: "Reality is a sound, you have to tune in to it not just keep yelling," or this: "the skin of the soul is a miracle of mutual pressures." I suppose this is what I was supposed to feel after reading it, since the poem begins with the suggestion that "Words bounce. Words, if you let them, will do what they want to do and what they have to do." Anne Carson certainly lets words do what they have to do in such a way that they stick with you, even while the plot lost me at times (likely due to my needing a refresher on Homer so I could understand all the references).<br />
<br />Jessinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03887560839425892037noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2670290082434509252.post-32260810892276429692017-03-07T19:23:00.000-05:002017-03-07T19:23:53.660-05:00february books<div style="text-align: center;">
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1. <i>White Teeth </i>by Zadie Smith</div>
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As others have noted, it's difficult to describe the plot of this novel in just a few sentences—it's a saga that follows two immigrant families from Bangladesh and Jamaica, eventually culminating in the stories of their children growing up in London. Maya Jaggi writes in <i>The Guardian</i>: "[The novel's] characters embrace Jehovah's Witnesses, halal butchers, eugenicists, animal-rights activists and a group of Muslim militants who labour under the unfortunate acronym KEVIN;" basically, there's a lot going on in this book. I found myself only truly invested in the novel come the second half, but it was certainly worth getting there. Smith wrote it when she was twenty-four years old and that in itself is staggering. (Also, she and her husband have to be <a href="http://www.capitalfm.co.ke/campus/files/2013/02/elizabeth-max.jpg">the most attractive people</a>.)</div>
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2. <i>Voyage of the Sable Venus and Other Poems </i>by Robin Coste Lewis</div>
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By far the best book I read this month, and I wish I would have read it sooner. The title poem is comprised "solely and entirely of the titles, catalog entries, or exhibit descriptions of Western art objects in which a black female figure is present, dating from 38,000 BCE to the present." Lewis writes that the poem, some seventy pages in length, "is not about my imagination; it’s about the failure of white imagination. It’s about the pathology of whiteness. Whiteness is the heart of darkness." While "The Voyage of the Sable Venus" centers the book—literally and metaphorically—the additional stand-alone poems particularly caught my attention. It has been a long while since I have read a new poet that I have loved so much.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgo7bsZzSzUUneCrqN-cLeyYRKyDg_vGSAaN1KBv9SLsD-YZ-l2FGJUMIUU2GcamuLSkOolfw9Q4e8f1OBrzNhThqGJq5KV4b8wkXtY4EW-T1SLaNWTY9g-JUDkin0zt99zphFdLO9K_qA/s1600/Lamott.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgo7bsZzSzUUneCrqN-cLeyYRKyDg_vGSAaN1KBv9SLsD-YZ-l2FGJUMIUU2GcamuLSkOolfw9Q4e8f1OBrzNhThqGJq5KV4b8wkXtY4EW-T1SLaNWTY9g-JUDkin0zt99zphFdLO9K_qA/s320/Lamott.jpg" width="207" /></a></div>
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3. <i>Bird by Bird: Some Instructions on Writing and Life </i>by Anne Lamott</div>
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I really only picked this up because I was slugging through Judith Butler's <i>Gender Trouble </i>and I needed a break, and this book was laying around in my near-sight and seemed like an easy read. I've read bits and pieces of it in creative writing classes in the past, but never the whole book front-to-back. Anne Lamott is the sort of person that I want to be: always ready with a perfectly-humored story to illustrate a point.<br />
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Also, this is fun: <a href="http://www.girlsatlibrary.com/">Girls at Library</a>.<br />
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Jessinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03887560839425892037noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2670290082434509252.post-166031890767291602017-02-23T09:46:00.000-05:002017-02-23T09:48:56.067-05:00our balm<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTM4aX-Wc9ERATzDeioJ-5ySwKLGgPrhxiHhji3apI9o7uCCWlO5_G2NVCeDMYf4IHmZgr-2CoJI-A4LAiSGDJyskf4OBKpf8FYcMBy_70EK5ewubys9u9KlHliPXK7vLutOlHC3xG11g/s1600/Derek.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTM4aX-Wc9ERATzDeioJ-5ySwKLGgPrhxiHhji3apI9o7uCCWlO5_G2NVCeDMYf4IHmZgr-2CoJI-A4LAiSGDJyskf4OBKpf8FYcMBy_70EK5ewubys9u9KlHliPXK7vLutOlHC3xG11g/s640/Derek.jpg" width="424" /></a></div>
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"...for we are the Lord's joy and delight,</div>
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and the Lord is our balm and our life."</div>
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[Julian of Norwich, <i>Revelations of Divine Love</i>]</div>
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Derek in Brooklyn last November, when I flew up for the weekend and stayed with him in his first apartment in NYC and we went to the Guggenheim to see Agnes Martin's retrospective and had a long conversation about politics over pizza and wine at the restaurant down the street. I stayed in a tiny room in the front of the apartment that only fit the twin bed that I slept on but that had this large floor-to-ceiling window which overlooked the street below—basically, my dream.</div>
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I see the shape of my nose and eyes reflected in his face, and my questions, doubts, and fears reflected in his own. Our shared introspectiveness sometimes makes us boring conversation-partners, but there is also always this sense that he understands some part of me few (if any) other people have ever understood. These are inadequate words: sometime I will write a poem about him.</div>
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<span style="background-color: #bd081c; background-position: 3px 50%; background-repeat: no-repeat no-repeat; background-size: 14px; border-bottom-left-radius: 2px; border-bottom-right-radius: 2px; border-top-left-radius: 2px; border-top-right-radius: 2px; border: none; color: white; cursor: pointer; display: none; font-family: "helvetica neue" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 11px; font-style: normal; font-weight: bold; left: 26px; line-height: 20px; opacity: 1; padding: 0px 4px 0px 0px; position: absolute; text-align: center; text-indent: 20px; top: 36px; width: auto; z-index: 8675309;">Save</span><span style="background-color: #bd081c; background-position: 3px 50%; background-repeat: no-repeat no-repeat; background-size: 14px; border-bottom-left-radius: 2px; border-bottom-right-radius: 2px; border-top-left-radius: 2px; border-top-right-radius: 2px; border: none; color: white; cursor: pointer; display: none; font-family: "helvetica neue" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 11px; font-style: normal; font-weight: bold; left: 26px; line-height: 20px; opacity: 1; padding: 0px 4px 0px 0px; position: absolute; text-align: center; text-indent: 20px; top: 36px; width: auto; z-index: 8675309;">Save</span>Jessinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03887560839425892037noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2670290082434509252.post-54534132713073300802017-02-19T19:55:00.000-05:002017-02-19T19:55:00.604-05:00ten good things<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkEuuw9hI0S7ZM5cpQ7CJiFwn_ELfVzXqdBTUlljFoiX2buTUZA9d1XieNbj4SYNWR5P9mlg82jDzrdfs0N2RjiV7RK7uTQpiOHNM-kw2hI9NNpwCHbegkdFft2w6h5SE7IVz_dTUo4GI/s1600/87640003.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="424" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkEuuw9hI0S7ZM5cpQ7CJiFwn_ELfVzXqdBTUlljFoiX2buTUZA9d1XieNbj4SYNWR5P9mlg82jDzrdfs0N2RjiV7RK7uTQpiOHNM-kw2hI9NNpwCHbegkdFft2w6h5SE7IVz_dTUo4GI/s640/87640003.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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01. weekend with kendra and eight-straight hours of talking in the car<br />
02. working with thomas, jamila, jeffrey, quedrith, and alyssa at the school for creative studies each week and remembering how much I love teaching (and these kids)<br />
03. surprise afternoons at home alone with <a href="https://www.amazon.com/White-Teeth-Novel-Zadie-Smith/dp/0375703861">a book</a>, and reading goals accomplished<br />
04. the sense that durham is maybe, finally beginning to feel like home<br />
05. this wonderful website about <a href="https://www.womenphotograph.com/">women photographers</a><br />
06. <a href="https://www.nytimes.com/2016/10/17/t-magazine/zadie-smith-swing-time-jeffrey-eugenides.html">this article on zadie smith</a><br />
07. seventy-five degree weather in February, and drinking tea with austin on our front porch<br />
08. yoga with ash and chandler at the YMCA<br />
09. a day trip to richmond to visit <a href="https://candelabooks.com/">candela books</a> + the best pastries from <a href="http://www.subrosabakery.com/">sub rosa bakery</a><br />
10. thinking and dreaming about what the rest of the year might hold for us<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">[35mm, A. at Eno River State Park]</span><br />
<br />Jessinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03887560839425892037noreply@blogger.com0