after this our exile

-

Someone told me recently that the hardest part about the post-graduation life of an art major is to learn to say, "I am an artist and this is what I make." So here's to practicing: I am an artist, and this is what I've been making. It's called After This Our Exile and it's a combination of video and installation work. (Don't ask me why. It's all new to me and I never thought I'd be doing this for my senior show. But some things just work.) Come see it in Adams Hall. All are welcome to a little celebration / opening reception on Friday, February 21, 7-9pm. Maybe there will be music. There will definitely be fancy cakes. I'd be grateful to have you there.

-

heading home again

-

-

-

-

-
These are the Ellie-days, when we talk about being scared, and being brave, and sit at a picnic table and use gel pens to draw pictures of leaves, and run as fast as we can (which is still not fast enough to beat the other kids, for both of us, and that's okay), and share tootsie rolls stashed in our pockets. They are the better days.

[all pictures from my holga]

-

ten good things

-

-

01. waking up to cool air in the morning, and the last of september's summer sun
02. thinking about sally mann after the critique with bruce herman, and his gracious wisdom

03. getting to be a barista and making every latte an extra foamy one

04. biking to the french market on early saturday mornings
05. goat milk lattes with austin at heritage prairie

06. late nights in the ceramics studio
07. walking up blanchard lawn to get to class every day
08. banana coconut honey smoothies (the best combination yet)
09. bridgeport and new unexplored parts of chicago, and just the fact that i get to live near this city
10. father martin's voice when he leans over the altar rail and says, "the body of christ, given for you"

It is these things, and so many more, that I am needing to remember lately.

[from a house i'm intrigued by, down the road]
-

the bests of the summer

-

-
thunderstorm breakfasts with em & tor // peonies // pie day // indian food in wicker park // the architecture exhibit at the art institute // sharon van etten at millennial park // beer and popcorn // the lilac parade // biking to all souls // lemonade for the first time // library time with dr. foster // wallace stegner // prayer on the green couch // mint pea soup // ELLIE // gardens with dr. brabanec // biking home in rain // no internet // father martin on prayer // milosz mondays // birchwood kitchen // georges bernanos // polenta and mushrooms // days of heaven // sunsets with mary at marshall park // just mary // sam's slippers // sylvi's kindness // arvo part // lots of damien jurado // attali and jens // the guide to filling our days // agnes martin // swimming in green lake with rebecca // bainbridge island alone // golden gardens // walking always // lavender lemonade // lavender everything // all the ferries // sea hair // jayne in seattle // ballard public library // canal walks with mr. wolfe // mark jarman // biking with aunt april // lake time // listening to records in fremont // earl gray ice cream // the loganberry festival // coffee with emily at le reve that morning // letters received // birthday picnic // sunday market // delancey // the locks (seven times) // chats with taylor // getting picked up from the memphis airport by the girls // stained-glass seals // andrew wyeth on my bed // andrew wyeth with mom // jan and lee // holding a chicken // gasworks park, both times // avocado toast // tired hands with derek // coming home after eight months

The boundary lines have fallen in pleasant places indeed, and gosh and golly it was such a good summer.
-

chicago from the pier

-




It's funny how buildings seem like characters sometimes. The fat old woman hovering over her daughter and the slender and confident businessman. At least, that's how I think of Chicago, like a skyline story, or a line-up of characters at the end of a play. I miss it, and the evenings spent at dusk on the pier imagining who they might be.
-

spaces places spaces

-

-

-

-

-

-

-

"Attention is the rarest and purest form of generosity."
(Simone Weil)

I have been thinking lately of all the places that I have made home in the past few years. There was the room in Oxford, where I bought fabric from the art store to cover the walls. There was the room in Durham, with the cathedral just across the cobblestone street. There was of course the many different rooms in Chicago-land, dorms and tight attic spaces. There was the hobbit hole in Berkeley, with my trundle bed and Jess' impeccable eye for beautiful things. There was (and is) of course the morning room at home, always tinted with the scent of that earl gray candle. There was the upstairs room where I spent the last month, with the creakiest hardwood floors and slanted ceilings and Em just next door. And now there is this little basement apartment in Upper Queen Anne. Soon there will be some other unknown place in a convent in northern Italy.

I have attended many churches and had favorite coffee shops in each of these places. I have walked up and down a lot of streets. I have called a lot of spaces my own. But, I think of them all, Honey is still my favorite spot that I have claimed and felt some kind possessive relationship with. I can probably tell you a story for every table in that space: who I sat with, what we talked about, what we ate, maybe even what I was wearing. These pictures come from an afternoon spent there with Emma and Heather. We jolted off to Honey after classes one day at the end of the semester. I am missing that place. (Or, maybe, I am really just missing those lovely two.)

[all film pictures]

-

small good things

-

-

-


And it is summer. It came so soon and suddenly with its dusky thunderstorms and surprise morning rain followed immediately by sunshine. I am living now for a month with Emma and Torunn in a little home on a quiet street near the train station. We have made it our own as best we could with the little we have. Almost every piece of furniture in the house is from a different person, borrowed for a time and giving life to our house. The entire first floor is painted a New England blue and sometimes in the morning while I eat breakfast I imagine I am actually in Maine. Six impossible things before breakfast, you know?

I am working almost full-time at the bookstore. It is quiet work and sometimes tedious and dull, but I am grateful for the days when I get to seed through all the trade books. I may or may not know exactly where the books I love are and spend extra time dusting those shelves. I am inching my way through My Bright Abyss by Christian Wiman when no one is looking. And I spend my lunch breaks at the library reading Image and preparing for the next part of summer. These days are ordinary in the best way. They feel like life and I feel like an adult. I go to work and go grocery shopping and cook dinner, after all.

I made this dinner last night, inspired by a recipe I found in a cookbook Emma checked out from the library. I forget the name of the cookbook, but I changed the recipe pretty dramatically, so hopefully that forgives my lack of proper credit.

Farro with Edamame, Lemon, Arugula, & Goat Cheese

Ingredients:
3/4 cup farro grains
1 cup edamame
olive oil
1 lemon
1 clove garlic
2 cups arugula
2 ounces goat cheese

Cook farro according to directions on package (boil in salted water). Drain and set aside. Boil edamame in same water for three minutes and drain as well. In the bottom of a saucepan, heat a bit of olive oil with salt, pepper, and minced garlic clove. Add arugula and cook until wilted. Squeeze lemon juice on arugula mixture and then add the edamame and farro and mix until flavors are combined and the dish is warmed. Dish onto plates and top with crumbled goat cheese and a bit more freshly ground pepper.
-

a day in wicker park

-

A little trip to Wicker Park (a neighborhood in Chicago) with some lovely ladies during the last weekend of school . . . breakfast at the Earwax Cafe, a lot of shopping at all the little vintage sales, sunshine, coffee, sitting around the park at dusk, a poetry reading at Myopic Books, etc. Grateful for these lovelies, for spring in the city, and for the chance to explore the neighborhood a bit more . . . I will miss it this summer.
-