Topical Thursday

Four Seasons façade

2009-11-19T17:19:00.000-08:00

From the Berlin Night series by Jens Komossa, one of my major inspirations in night photography

WIndows

2009-11-18T18:40:00.000-08:00

Spinning Camera, Walking. Paul McCarthy, 1971, 16mm film, black-and-white, silent; 2:57 minutes.

i think TT

2009-11-15T10:56:00.001-08:00

is dying !

?

PORTRAIT: CORINE ST OFLE

2009-11-05T02:37:00.000-08:00

to the lady with pretty flames in her eyes

(ps why does the photo cut off at the sides? ee)

Haunted

2009-10-26T20:16:00.001-07:00

Isn't being haunted really just remembering too well the stuff you'd be better off forgetting but can't?

Gawd, that's emo. I'm haunted by Elliot Smith apparently.

Haunted. Patricia

2009-10-22T20:19:00.001-07:00

1. I am a direct descendant* of the most famous of Romanians--Vlad the Impaler (otherwise known as Dracula).
*Ok, I'm exaggerating. But you never know!

2. Outside our window for almost a month now. Nothing stirs him (not rain, not bad weather, not my severe knocks on the window). You decide his origin:

St.Ofle – Vegetarians Taste Better

2009-10-15T10:51:00.000-07:00

I saw this bumper-sticker in the parking lot at SCC (I had some time to kill, and went searching for this very reason).
I photoshopped the hell out of it, because of the glare in the original photo.
(I like disclosing these things, it makes me feel more honest)

Anyway

I recently read an article linking cannibalism to atheism. The argument goes that if there is no god, then there is of course no significance to being human. If there is no significance to humanity, humanity is not sacred. If humanity is not sacred, what's the point of not eating another human?

Needless to say, I wasn't impressed with this argument.

trend

2009-10-08T23:06:00.000-07:00

Trends come and go, there is no need to pay attention to them. Silhouettes, forms, texture, spatial relationships, movement, patterns, and color harmonies are forever. Lagerfeld's mixtures of black, white, tulle, and tweed. Lacroix's innovative scupltural shapes. Prada's composition and simplicity. You don't need $35,000 for a Chanel couture suit, beauty and innovation is everywhere. This drawing is pencil on paper, her dress is made from a used coffee filter.

Trend - graciela.

2009-10-08T11:04:00.000-07:00

I was poor 20 years ago. I was cheap 9 years ago. I was thrifty 2 years ago. Now, they just categorize me as a recessionista, a consumer trend that is keeping the economy from growing. Who knew that the debt I never accrued and frivolous spending I never did would've ruined our economy if everyone else adopted such a personal monetary responsibility. Because overspending and running a national GDP made up of mostly debt worked out so great for us.

Trend - Jessalyn Wakefield

2009-10-08T00:07:00.001-07:00

You like the trend of longer hemlines because you prefer your imagination. What cannot be seen is always more captivating than what is revealed. You come from your head. You write me letters, imagining me smoking out the window of my room. Imagining me reading in the bath. Painting for me pictures of myself in solitude. But I am rarely alone, and I like my skirts short. I quit smoking and I lost the stopper for the drain. Is being held spellbound, in fact, the way you prefer to be held.

am i human

intoxication - michelle suzanne

2009-10-01T16:01:00.001-07:00

So contrary to what I have thought nearly my whole adult life, I discovered recently that NOT drinking helps me sleep better. Not to say that I am intoxicated nightly, but even just a few beers out a show on a weeknight and I find myself tossing and turning all night, only to fall asleep right before my alarm clock goes off or just waking up every half hour. As much as I love drinking, I love sleeping more. So I am trying my very hardest to drink a lot less. Funny, when I wasn't trying not to drink it was no biggie, but now that I am forcibly trying not to drink, all I can think of is cold delicious beer and sweet sweet vodka and wine wine wine. Cheers.

Long Exposure -- St.Ofle

2009-10-01T13:32:00.000-07:00

I think this is the closes you can get to getting a baby high.
Orson and I have been playing with long-exposures between naps.
This is him doing his best to sit still.

Intoxication .Patricia.

2009-10-01T12:18:00.000-07:00

China is celebrating its 60 years of communist rule with intoxicating parades and displays of might. It's even attempted to control the weather and dispel interfering clouds with shots of iodine. Last night the Empire State Building was lit red and yellow in its honor. No cold war here.

Enthusiasm in me.

2009-09-24T22:45:00.000-07:00

I'm enthusiastic about our abilities. Yesterday, while sitting in class and running my fingers through my hair, I saw a gray hair come out. I always like to look at my silver strands, but I quickly noticed that this one was half brown. Neat, a transitioning hair, but wait! the brown was coming from the root end? I more than triple checked to see if I was seeing things correctly. I ended up holding onto the hair for the rest of class. I have this book that has an index of all these ailments and our potential mental patterns that create them. I have used this book to heal myself and prevent sickness for years now. Last year I noticed how many gray hairs I was getting since I had started school. Then looking up something else, I saw the book even listed gray hair. The probable cause was listed as "Stress. Belief in pressure and strain." Um yes, that's school life but I guess it doesn't have to be. And now I have some proof (to me) that this belief is changing. Yay.

Anytime I find success in relation to this book, I dance like Billy here:

I now have the hair taped to my wall in my studio as a reminder.

Enthusiam - Michelle Suzanne

2009-09-24T18:05:00.000-07:00

also known as having a really good time (hargt if you are in the know)

PURE UNADULTERATED COOL COLLECTED ENTHUSIASM

2009-09-24T11:42:00.000-07:00

Enthusiasm

2009-09-24T09:16:00.000-07:00

Indeed.

enthusiasm

2009-09-24T08:23:00.000-07:00

Not food.

2009-09-17T19:51:00.001-07:00

I could have painted some food, but instead I've decided to go a little off topic. I feel it's important to post about beauty products, many of the natural and organic products out there contain many synthetic ingredients. Chemicals and preservatives that have been banned for use in food are still found in our cosmetics, hair products, and other toiletries. Ingredients that have been banned for cosmetic use in Asia and Europe are used here, the United States has the most relaxed cosmetic standards in the world. In fact, the FDA does not review – nor does it have the authority to regulate – what goes into cosmetics before they are marketed to salons and consumers.

Many relatively safe chemicals have names very similar to the stuff you want to stay away from. It's important to know which is which. I check my products and ingredients at a website created by the Environmental Working Group called Skin Deep.

My Aunt Cathy died from cancer yesterday. I know so many people who have had cancer. I often ask myself "where does this come from? what has changed?" Residents of Marin County, Ca were found to be at a higher than normal risk for developing breast cancer. After extensive studies researches came to the conclusion that the cause was not found in the water, soil, or air. The study found that affluence, education, and life style were the primary reasons behind the increased risk. There are many reasons that women develop breast cancer, but scientists pinpointed higher alcohol consumption and bearing children late in life, as the specific causes of breast cancer in Marin County. These findings were compared with results of studies done in Malibu, Beverly Hills, and the upper-middle class areas of New Jersey, Maryland and New York. Researchers noticed higher rates of breast cancer in these areas too. I believe it's possible that this may be due to higher consumption of beauty products and chemical treatments of affluent women. If I had more money I would buy more products!

Two SF Gate articles about the study:
Breast cancer amid affluence

Marin County rate blamed on lifestyle, demographics

Twenty breast tumors were tested and parabens were found in every sample. Researchers believe the chemicals seep through the skin, especially while bathing when pores are open. Parabens have created a big debate over their safety, they seem to mimic the action of female estrogen which may explain the growth of cancerous breast tumors. The cosmetic industry says their safe, but there is room for doubt. Many women are concerned with deodorant and antiperspirants, presumably because of aluminum content as well as parabens. I use Tom's Of Maine deodorant, the apricot smell is nice and it does a great job.

Another one to watch out for is sulfates. Sulfates are responsible for the bubbling suds effect of soap mixed with water. I was surprised when I read this, it basically reduces every shampoo I have ever used to dish washing detergent. A study at the Medical College of Georgia, indicated that sulfates penetrate the eyes and prevents children's eyes from developing properly and caused cataracts to develop in adults. The main problem with sulfates is that they clean by corroding. This is very damaging to our skin and hair and may lead to skin rashes and chronic acne. Sulfates strip the protective lipids from the skins surface so it can't effectively regulate moisture. Our skin compensates for this harsh dryness by becoming oilier, which perpetuates the problem. Sulfates in toothpaste may lead to ulcers. The scariest problem created by Sulfates is hair loss, follicle by follicle.

Another serious problem is the possibility of nitrate contamination. Sulfates react with other chemicals in your products and form nitrates, cancer causing carcinogens. To compound the problem it appears that sulfates have a higher than normal level of absorption, they can penetrate our skin deeply and are retained in our tissues for a very long time. A study published in the Journal of the American College of Toxicology found that “high levels of skin penetration may occur at even low use concentration.”

Parabens and sulfates aren't the only concern. I've heard of cancer causing sun screen, tooth paste that wears away your enamel, lip stick with lead in it, mercury and formaldehyde in mascara! I encourage you to check everything and research every chemical, you can't be too safe! Cosmetic companies are responding to the demand for cleaner products, although the products I've tried have been hit or miss. Recently I purchased Physician's Formula Organic Wear mascara, and I was very impressed. It smells like oranges and honey and washes off easily. It's certified organic by EcoCert.

New York Times: Natural, Organic Beauty

The Washingtonian: More than Skin Deep

Organic Beauty Magazine

Green America: The Ugly Side of Cosmetics

The Campaign for Safe Cosmetics, this website has information about the cosmetic laws in Canada and Europe

All Natural Beauty, this website has tons of recipes for homemade beauty treatments.

Food - Michelle

2009-09-17T17:33:00.000-07:00

One of my favorite topics, favorite hobbies, favorite part of life! I could probably write a book about food, just babbling about this and that, but what I want to tell you guys is that Portland has no good Mexican food. I miss Sacramento for this reason alone (besides my friends and mom of course). I have found myself enjoying substandard burritos and telling myself that actually it's pretty good. I have found only one place with actual salsa and not water red or green hot sauce. The best chips and guacamole come from a place that is always incredibly busy and is also incredibly small, oh and did i mention that chips and guacamole is like 6 bucks? not to mention their tacos which are $3 a pop and tiny. I made my own fish tacos last weekend because i have been craving them all summer and cannot seem to find a decent one in this city that isn't covered in pineapples, or lacking flavor, or hardly any fish. Now I'm no fish taco connoisseur, but I know that I like my fish tacos (or any tacos for that matter!) basic. Delicious fish, either grilled or fried, a little bit of lime/sour cream sauce, pico, cabbage. Maybe some hot sauce if I am in the mood. Doesnt sound that hard! I might get some guff for this, but I would pay probably like $20 for 2 Jimboys fish tacos right now. When I go to Sacramento in October you better believe I am stuffing my face full of those amazing greasy perfect things. So back to the fish tacos that I made last weekend. They were AMAZING. I took pictures, and I would post them but I dont have time right now, so if you are so inclined, and want the recipe etc., check my food blog next week for the details. So, in conclusion, cherish the amazing mexican food available to you in sunny California!

st.ofle -- french foodie interview

2009-09-17T14:25:00.000-07:00

For today’s topic, I thought it would be nice to conduct an interview.
It was actually perfect, because the biggest foodie I’ve ever known was right in my house – Corine’s mom, Cécile who is visiting from France.
I'd also like to add that she's probably the sweetest, funniest lady on earth, and as far as mothers-in-law go, I'm pretty lucky!

I typed this interview and translated it into English as I was talking to her, so please ignore any spelling mistakes (there are a few).

St.O: Maman, I do this blog thing – do you know what a blog is?

Cécile: yeah, it’s something for school, right?

St.O: not really, anyway, do you mind if I ask you a few questions?

Cécile: About what?

St.O: food

Cécile: of course not

St.O: What is the most important thing about food for you? What does into making something a good meal?

Cécile: The most important thing is the quality of products that you cook – very important!
The ingredients – yes.
You can’t good a meal with garbage, you know.

St.O: Do organic ingredients matter to you?

Cécile: Often organic things have a good taste, but good taste in general is more important than organic produce, yes.

St.O: Ok, so Nicolas Sarkozy (French President) makes a law that say you have to only eat one thing from new on and forever, what do you pick?

Cécile: (long pause) RICE! Basmati rice!
Rice has a taste all to itself – if only one thing, it’s rice you don’t have to add anything – rice is delicious alone, and it’s so simple. If it’s going to be the same thing all the time, it’ll get old no matter what, so it might as well be cheap and easy to cook, so I pick rice.

St.O: good answer
So, what are you most excited to give to Orson when he is ready to eat things other than breastmilk?

Cécile: hmmm. A good high quality beef tri-tip!

St.O: you know that’s not likely to happen right, as both of his parents are moderately vegan?

Cécile: (ignores me) -- cooked to perfection, like the steak houses you have in the united states do.

St.O: by you, or by someone else?

Cécile: By me. It’s easy to cook, but there again, it’s the quality that maters. Sadly, there’s no steakhouses like you have here in California in Paris, but I think I can make do.

St.O: that’s what you think. Can you talk a bit about the different culinary traditions with which you’re familiar?

Cécile: You mean West Indian, French, and American?
We can’t really talk about American cuisine – it’s generalized – I discovered it through Californian cuisine, and just trips here to see you and Corine. But California cuisine isn’t really American cuisine, is it? Especially with both of you being vegetarian, I don’t know if I can talk about American cuisine with any authority.
I can see West Indian cuisine in what you and Corine eat though. West Indian cuisine is influenced by latin-american cuisine, and latin-american cuisine also influences Californian cuisine. Didn’t’ this used to be Mexico anyway?
Anyway, French cuisine is really really refined – now I can talk about French cuisine. In France every region has it’s own specialty, its own special dishes, and smells. I can tell you a lot more about French cuisine than American cuisine, because there’s a lot more to tell.

St.O: This is hard because I translate what you’re saying, and type at the same time

Cécile: I understand

St.O: Have you noticed that things have changed since you were a kid, for example?

Cécile: I don’t’ think I’ve lived long enough to see changes that are that big, but yeah, there has been an evolution – sure! You can go into the supermarket now and buy already done plates – things that are ready to eat! We can make an entire meal without cooking at home!

St.O: Do you think cooking is on its way out?

Cécile: No, No. I don’t think so

St.O: When you go back to France, what will you appreciate having the most?

Cécile: Not meat – Not really fish -- What else
Aha! Croissant and coffee!

St.O: You want to say something about American coffee?

Cécile: You already know how I feel – it’s sock juice – it’s disgusting!
Whenever I talk about the US, I tell people never to order coffee here – they give you watery coffee in this huge glass (holds up a coffee mug) it’s just gross.

Food - graciela.

2009-09-17T11:38:00.001-07:00

I don't agree with Anthony Bourdain's claims that vegetarians eat bad food and that they hate good meals. The problem is that most people don't know how to cook vegetables properly. Steamed veggies are definitely not my idea of eating. I partake in the dying art that is cooking from scratch. When done properly, vegetables amaze in soups, casseroles, even home made pizza. The hell with semi-homemade and fuck prepackaged dinners from the super market. Meat tastes good, I do remember that, but us vegetarians and vegans don't hate food. Anyone who truly cooks, loves food.

Food also tastes best when you've grown it yourself. If only cities abandoned the lawn for plants that can feed its citizens. If I can do it, you can too.

2009-09-17T11:00:00.000-07:00

When Richard told me that this week’s Topical Thursday topic du jour was about food, I got really excited. There are few things that get my lard-laden blood pumping faster than the promise of enlightened discussion about all things gastronomic.

But before I begin, let me make it clear that I’m a recently converted carnivore who spent more than seven years before the leafy celery mast of vegetarianism. I’m not interested in discussing the ethical ramifications of eating all things cute and or fuzzy, but rather the sweet, sweet science of eating food that my friends (who are infinitely more talented then myself) have prepared. There is no better feeling than cracking open a cold one, sitting around the table, and getting BBQ sauce in various locations around my mouth. Other than making love (the way I do it anyways), eating with one another is the single most bond-tastic thing you can do. Having dinner with one another should be a required activity for families, friends and people you see on the street that you shoot smiles at because you know that if you ran into each other somewhere else (like dinner maybe) you would totally hit it off.

Now that summer is winding down, the chance to cook outdoors is dramatically dwindling. I suggest you stock up on the Sriracha, box wine, and Netflix so that this winter you can get closer with the people you want to get closer with.

Eat something good and don’t forget to invite me cause y’know I can’t cook for myself.

Food

2009-09-17T09:41:00.000-07:00

Early in my childhood, I can recall the pleasure I took in eating food. Our relationship was simple; food was delicious so I ate it, and I loved it. There was no concern for the nutritional or caloric properties of food. There was never a second thought. I adored food so much so that my mother threatened to lock it up while she was gone if I did not gain self control. And I cried so much so, as I did not know what I would do without it.

Ultimately that relationship turned sour as I found myself at age 19 weighing 250 lbs. Food could no longer cover for the fact that I was alone and miserable. Nor could it shelter me from the consistent banter of heartless adolescent girls.

It was then that I decided food and I were over. With a mounting interest in nutrition, I knew what was to be done. I cut out food. For six months I ate 600 to 800 calories a day, and I loved it. This restriction was so severe that chewing gum was limited, if not entirely avoided, as I thought to myself, “Do I really want to eat 5 more calories…?” As this went on, I shed 130 lbs.

At 21 years old and 120 lbs., I looked in the mirror and saw the same monster that food helped create; still overweight and still undesirable, even to myself. The endless amount of attention I began to receive was meaningless to me. I wanted to have food in my life again and be a normal young adult. I started eating, but I couldn’t keep it down. I taught myself how to vomit, and that was fabulous for awhile.

No one knows about my year long struggle with bulimia, as I have never been caught in the act, nor have I written about it in my diary. As with most of my disgusting habits, I was able to stop on my own, but not entirely as I will confess, I have done it within the past month.

As I am happier and healthier now, food and I will never be the same again, as our relationship has gotten better, but not entirely.

FOOD

2009-09-17T02:37:00.000-07:00

found object:

grocery list, stuck in with the gums and mints at a checkout aisle at Safeway..
i picked it up and scanned it for R St. Ofle but i'll post it here too..
i especially like the "Snovers Dinner" and "variety of shasta sodas" hehehe

Belated Guilt Post

2009-09-16T15:38:00.000-07:00

I just realized the irony of me not posting last week for the topic of guilt. I was going to feel too guilty if I posted the picture I had intended on posting.

gilt

2009-09-10T22:40:00.001-07:00

Corine -- Coupable

2009-09-10T21:46:00.000-07:00

Whatever it is, doesn't it look like that guy did it?
(Polaroid taken during Bay2Breakers 2009)

Guilt

2009-09-10T20:52:00.001-07:00

I have to take issue with the number of posts this week that proclaim the uselessness of guilt. Thanks to the way I was brought up, I could write a treatise on the topic, but that's not my mission tonight. I was going to post something else entirely on today's topic, but then I was struck by these posts.

Like most things in this life, too much guilt is toxic and it can lead to manipulation. But lack of guilt is just as toxic. I see too many people who refuse to take responsibility for anything that they do badly. I see too many people who blame their parents for the way they act in adulthood. I see too many people who refuse to feel guilty for hurting others. Too many instances of kids brought up without a sense of guilt who run amok and have a mammoth sense of entitlement. Kids who act like they're the center of the universe and expect to be treated like that; they turn into adults who act like kids.

As children, we all have an innate sense of guilt in us. Parents can increase and manipulate it to their advantage, or they can extinguish it altogether. There is a healthy balance somewhere in there.

I'm guilty -- St.Ofle

2009-09-10T18:36:00.001-07:00

I can't be too honest.
My beloved grandfather died a few moths back.

I didn't go visit him in the hospital as he was dying, though I easily could have.
"don't! you'll regret it, he's in too bad of shape -- he may not even recognize you" people said.
Well intentioned, they told me stories of how people they knew had died, and seeing a dying person is a mess (they said).
"You want to remember hi the way he was"
Feeling it was the right thing to do (for myself) I didn't visit him.
Now I regret it.

I think it's selfish.
The thing a dying human wants the most is to feel loved.
The last thing any dying human wants is to feel marginalized, or forgotten.

This is a portrait I did of my handsome (and now dead) grandfather.
(He was the Richard from whence this Richard got the name Richard)

I'm sorry, I'm guilty.

2009-09-10T11:17:00.000-07:00

Guilt and remorse are one and the same for me. Wanting to go back in time and make amends. Wanting to know what to say to make sure the same sad things don't ever happen again. Shame is in there too. Being ashamed of not doing more or doing something better. Feeling guilty that I feel guilty. Feeling ashamed that I spend my precious time feeling guilty.

The worst kind of guilt is the one for the thing that happened that I had no control over. It's the Smiths song, played backwards and at a terribly slow speed, making me analyze every, sad detail and annoying the shit out of me. Guilt is a useless emotion, but it's the one I'm stuck with.

OK, time to go for a walk in the sun and be grateful.

toothache

2009-09-10T03:14:00.000-07:00

Guilt is an equivalent of physical pain. When we feel pain, we know something is wrong physically. When a person has a toothache, if he (or she) is smart, he'll go to a dentist and take care of the problem. It's hard to ignore that kind of pain, usually it only gets worse with time. But when guilt is involved, you can be sure something is wrong on another level.

GUILT

2009-09-10T02:37:00.000-07:00

"guilt" - noun: a feeling of responsibility or remorse for some offense, crime, wrong, etc., whether real or imagined.

it's one thing to not take responsibility for yourself, but don't let yourself get caught up in the game of guilt, which is often used as a tool of control over you by society or an individual. you deserve good things, and you deserve to do well !

alone

2009-09-03T22:01:00.000-07:00

Excessive solitariness is not good for you. For example, it has been found that people who live alone are far more likely later in life to suffer from Alzhimer's or dementia.

(The above images are a part of a series I did for a school assignment over the course of this spring.)

Recluse - Jessalyn Wakefield

2009-09-03T19:01:00.000-07:00

There was a clear moment in my life when I understood that if I did not learn to be completely alone with my Self in a room, without a phone, without the Internet, without friends lovers books radios noise communication anything, if I could not learn to be in a room with my Self and only the presence of my Self for days, weeks, months, that if I did not learn this I would, quite literally, die.

So I learned.

Recluse. Patricia

2009-09-03T17:49:00.000-07:00

1. I found this on all-knowing Wikipedia:

"In Japan, an estimated 1.2 million people are part of the phenomenon of 'Hikikomori' or 'social withdrawal' has become a major problem, often blamed on Japan's education system and social pressure to succeed."

(I had nothing to do with the badly constructed sentence).

2. I can't help thinking of North Korea.

3. Recently I was having a conversation with some people about the biblical basis for Christian monks and monasteries. I'm still not sure it exists.

4. I'm really angry at my aunt for home schooling her youngest kids and quite possibly turning them into social recluses.

Recluse/Balthus

2009-09-03T17:18:00.000-07:00

I painted this two weeks ago, it's very small. I have nine or ten other paintings waiting to be scanned or photographed. I have become slightly reclusive, but I don't feel guilty about it. Time alone can be very therapeutic. I see my friends and enjoy the outside world, but on my own terms.

When I was 18 I went to San Francisco to study art, I was ahead of many of my classmates. Like my hero Balthus(it rhymes with recluse), I began painting and drawing as a very young child. It's the best training you can have, to learn to draw as you are learning everything else is a gift. I am thankful for it, art is intertwined with everything I have ever known. So, I pleaded with the school to let me skip the preliminary courses but, we never saw eye to eye. They argued that they were foundation classes, and I argued that they were a waste of my money! Needless to say they won, and I got A's with no effort. I was able to complete my assignments quickly, I used all of that free time exploring the city; climbing fire escapes, sneaking into hotels, running from crackheads, looking for the best views, using the neighboring apartment complexes heated pool, and just having the perfect time.

Now, it seems that I get a surge of energy at night, especially on the weekends. Maybe I am more nocturnal than reclusive, so often they seem to go hand in hand. I could use that energy to go out at night and party, and I do. However, more often than not I give into the urge to devote myself to the process of painting. It's more fulfilling than anything else I could do. I feel that there are secrets to attain, ideas to discover, magic waiting to happen, ideas wanting to come to fruition, and just so much more to learn.

I recently read Bathus' memoir. It was written before this death, and published after. This was done at his request. He is another famous recluse, he was rarely photographed and never gave interviews. He resisted any attempts at creating a biography, at his retrospective at Tate Modern he simply stated "Balthus is a painter of whom very little is known," Knowing how much he prized silence makes me deeply thankful for his words, they have been inspiring and comforting. When I read them I feel like I am reading the letters of a friend whose ideas and philosophies are the same as mine. Often a chapter starts in the middle of a thought. He discusses his painting rituals and a fear of dying before his work can be completed. I understand that and internalize it, I cannot put off what demands to be done. It would be wrong to. I am a servant of painting, painting does not serve me. Painting will continue if I don't, and it must be ritually seized.

So, with this comes a process of reconciliation. A balancing act. Having the right energy at the right time, acting when the idea strikes, and choosing not to become a recluse and not to feel guilty.

recluse -- st.ofle

2009-09-03T11:39:00.000-07:00

I've been reclusive.
but only in the morning and at night.
and because having a baby does that.
I'd also like to add that I've fought it, and been out every day.

last night, and this morning I took these with Orson during his nightly "calming" drive.
it's quite peaceful actually, until the car slows for a stop light or sign, in which case orson lets the wold know how much he likes going instead of stopping.

Recluse-Sapphire Cordial

2009-09-03T11:19:00.000-07:00

I typed the word “recluse” into google image search and the first full page was filled with brown recluse spider pics and brown recluse spider bite pics. No images of 26 year old girls cursed with wanderlust, or representations of avoidance of previously frequented social situations that seem pointless and counter-productive.

There was however, a photograph of 31 year old Li Guoxing, an unfortunate Chinese dude who was attacked by a bear in 2006 and afterward became a recluse due to the disfigurement of his face. The picture (if you really want to see it, google his name) is pretty grisly/grizzly (sorry, I couldn’t help myself), but out of some morbid curiosity I took a closer look and found out that Gouxing later became the second ever recipient of a face transplant. Dangg.

Any time something bizarre like this catches my attention, I assume it as some sort of teaching or sign and try to relate it to my own life somehow. There is the obvious “be thankful for what you have” lesson, which is always valid, but as I was considering this in comparison to my recent afternoon spent alone in a graveyard, from which I took a similar introspective deep breath, I read that in July of 2008, Li Guoxing died. Aw, man.

I’m not really sure how to feel about this. I was trying to find more recent pics of him, to see how he healed up after the surgery. I was rooting for him. Now I feel let down (thanks a lot internet, for not telling me of his fate in the first place) and even sadder at his awful circumstances. If he’d stayed a disfigured recluse he would probably still be alive (though there was no autopsy performed, so his actual cause of death is undetermined), but he probably could have written a gripping “I survived” style auto-biography.

So I guess I’ll knock on wood and present myself with the following question: Would I want to live if I were cut off from all human contact? Granted, that’s a very extreme example of “recluse”, but for argument’s sake lets say I signed some kind of deal with the devil where I got to keep my face (I don’t even want to take into account how that kind of disfigurement would effect my psyche), but was not allowed any human companionship, ever. No friends, no lovers, no one.

Right now, when I choose to be alone it feels healthy and welcome, but honestly if there were no option I don’t think I could make it. At first I’d read all the books I’ve been putting off reading, I’d write and draw and make crazy sculptures. But after a while, I think I’d lose all my inspiration and become sullen and start to lose my mind (unless maybe there was a clause where I was still allowed go on Facebook.). After a longer while I’d probably die of a broken heart.

So I think the lesson here is thanks-giving after all. I’m thankful I have a curiosity of new places. I’m thankful for all the seemingly non-productive social situations I can choose to attend. I’m thankful I’ve never had a run-in with a bear or had to have plastic surgery, and last but not least, I’m thankful that I’ve never been required to choose between two absurd extremes and report my decision to Tim Curry.

That was a close one

RECLUSE

2009-09-03T02:37:00.000-07:00

vampire, nocturnal, whatever

i am becoming more and more reclusive..always have despised the sun. it's 5AM and i don't have much more interesting to say on the subject except, here is a little article about some famous recluses..

and this one too.

oh, and this guy..
(sorry for the nightmares, self)

!

Vanity

2009-08-29T01:41:00.000-07:00

This is me in 3rd grade. I was sick of having bangs so I cut them off myself. My mom was upset and told me she wouldn't fix them. I don't think I cared (but maybe I did. I should ask her if she remembers this event). I hated that cowlick of extra poof on the side of my head and it wouldn't go away. It was there every day.
I wish I had more pictures of me at this time, cause this picture cracks me up!

Vanity

2009-08-27T21:25:00.000-07:00

Self-portraits. None of these look like me, which is why I must keep practicing.

VANITY

2009-08-27T16:37:00.000-07:00

aesthetic > vanity

once i unconsciously scribbled, "i'm not interested in being beautiful, i'm interested in leading a beautiful life" into a bedside journal at like 3am and when i found it again recently i thought that it sums up quite well how i view today's topic.

i LOVE clothes. i especially adore black clothing. if i could i would (and when i can i will) spend hundreds on the well-tailored, beautifully-draped black dresses and tops and pants and jackets and shoes and all the dark fabrics that i desire.
but what i honestly desire about them is their value when considering how much thought and craft and vision was put into them, and the sense of draping one's body in a visual costume which represents the inner workings of their mind.

i'm actually working on a project called "the dark files" with my friend and local designer michael lopez to craft four or five great pieces that represent our inspirations and aesthetics and then document these pieces in a variety of ways. we're starting tomorrow, yay

vanity -- st.ofle

2009-08-27T11:43:00.000-07:00

I don't know anything about female dress sizes.
Hell, I hardly know anything about women.

but I came upon an article on one of my favorite blogs about how the shape of a woman -- an idea woman -- has changed over the years.

Marilyn Monroe was a size 14.

This is a size 14 today.

Then there's this

Vanity

2009-08-27T11:13:00.001-07:00

Twins

2009-08-20T21:21:00.000-07:00

I have twin cousins on both sides of my family. One set is two years older than me, and the other set is two years younger. I have always been able tell who is who even though both sets are identical. When I was a little girl I wanted a twin, I am the oldest and was the only girl for a long time. I loved spending weekends and vacations with the twins on my mother's side. As children we looked alike and would often dress in the same outfits to make people think we were triplets, it worked!

Now we're all adults and at some point I stopped wishing for a twin. I see both sets of twins having the exact same problems and exhibiting the same risky unhealthy behaviors. Life can be difficult when you feel like you aren't a unique individual.

sarahb - my twin

2009-08-20T18:09:00.001-07:00

i have a twin.

she is 4 years older than me.

but, really, she's my twin.

a few years back we got so tired of having to respond to inquisitive strangers that we were not twins, so we began to play along. we would just tell curious folks that we were in fact twins. it was fun.

it's a funny thing though, we didn't start looking so alike or sharing similar mannerisms, until we were living in different countries. bizarre. her name is zeina. she's super rad.

Twins - Michelle Suzanne

2009-08-20T16:31:00.001-07:00

I have always been fascinated by twins. There are a few sets of twins in my extended family and when I was younger, I always hoped that the next set of twins in my family would be my kids. I heard that having twins skips generations. I also wished I had a twin, because my little sister was a pain in the ass. I also really always have loved sideshow freak type things, probably because my mom had a bunch of photo books of old old old barnum and bailey sideshow performers and I thought they were so weird/cool. I also bought one of our own Jessica M's paintings of pretty conjoined twins and I love it!

There is an extremely rare form of identical twins that occurs perhaps in one out of every 75,000 to 100,000 births or 1 in 200 deliveries of identical twins, that of conjoined twins.

Here are some fine photos of my favorite kind of twins.

Daisy and Viola Hilton, 1924. "Twins are capable of earning living in practical pursuits.

Daisy and Viola again, in the movie Freaks, 1932

Diane Arbus' (who I love!) photo, Identical Twins. (not conjoined) Then (1967) and in 2005. The twins' father once said about the photo, "We thought it was the worst likeness of the twins we'd ever seen."

Conjoined twins born July of this year in Indonesia. The boys, who have not yet been named, have two heads, a pair of lungs, two arms and two hearts. They weighed 7 pounds. CNN article here.

I could do this all day.
<3

Cocteau Twins

2009-08-20T16:01:00.001-07:00

Cocteau Twins

Two live vids of my favorite Twins.

Musette and Drums - from the album "Head Over Heels"

Wax and Wane - from the album "Garlands"

"COME AND PLAY WITH US" (TWINS)

2009-08-20T14:42:00.000-07:00

one of the best scenes from one of the best movies

juan francisco casas twins -- st.ofle

2009-08-20T12:26:00.000-07:00

Do you know Juan Francisco Casas?
I've had an obsession with his work, and an obsession with combining images lately.
I combined the two, and layered two of his drawings.

here are some JFC goods
Juan Francisco Casas Images
juanfranciscocasas.com/
wikipedia article

Missing

2009-08-13T23:19:00.000-07:00

I woke up this morning to news that my cat was missing. I looked everywhere, I searched for hours. This evening I found her, but when I picked her up she scratched my arms. In that past three years she has never once been remotely interested in going outside at all. She is full grown but still looks like a kitten. She poses and makes adorable noises all the time, she loves attention. If I walk by her and she wants to me stop and play with her she taps my arm with her paw.

A few years ago I saw that two kittens were dumped off in our neighborhood. They appeared to be nearly identical, one was male and the other is female. They were skiddish to say the least. In the ghetto there are tons of uncivilized folks, and my neighbors fit that description perfectly. They had a pit bull that they kept locked in the backyard, they never walked it at all! In fact, we had no idea they had a dog. Apparently they let it roam the neighborhood at night.

Thanksgiving of that year we went over to my mom's house for dinner. On the way home we were discussing the kittens, they were beginning to warm up to us. Even though it would require some adjusting, we decided to bring them inside. We pulled up to our house and noticed the gate was open, immediately we knew something was wrong. The pit bull was in our yard! I could see the boy kitten lying in the grass by a tree, it was obvious that he was dead. The girl kitten was near the front door and the pit bull was a few feet away from her. Rob freaked out and started chasing the pit bull with a brick around the yard. We chased it and yelled and tossed bricks, there was nothing we could do to get the dog to leave. A half and hour later, I was finally able to get the neighbor to come across the street and get the dog, they're lucky Rob didn't kill it. I think he might have, we were infuriated.

The girl kitten, Isabella, was shaken. Rob was able to grab her and bring her inside. Two days later she was living it up in comfort and luxury. We named her brother Isafella. I am certain she is in the yard somewhere and I doubt she will leave.

Missing

2009-08-13T22:09:00.000-07:00

Last week I finished reading a fascinating book, What is the What. It's a best seller, so you may have heard of it or perhaps even read it. If not, I strongly recommend it to anyone who cares about either a good story, or, more importantly, about stuff that goes on in this world and looks like nothing we know of at home. Basically, it's the story of a young Sudanese man who ran from the war as a child and eventually moved to the US, where life wasn't necessarily that much kinder.

The following excerpt is his description of the first time he ever saw a white man, at the age of 9 or 10, in a refugee camp in Ethiopia. In spite of the much more colorful theories below, the white man turned out to be a UN worker. Reading this was quite an experience:

"-You haven't seen him?
-No. You're saying he's a white man? His hair is white?
-No, his skin, every part of him. He's white like chalk.
[...] I followed their [his young friends'] stares and saw what seemed to be a man who had been turned inside out. He was the absence of a man. He had been erased. An involuntary shudder went through my body, the same reaction I had when I saw a burn, a missing limb--a perversion of nature.
I began to walk toward the erased man before I realized I had not lifted my pants after urinating. I fixed myself and followed the crowd of boys who were herding in the direction of the erased man. [...]
We returned to our shelters, to our chores, but over the course of the day, theories about the new man abounded. The first theory held that he had been sent by the Sudanese government to kill all of us--that he would count all of the boys, and then he would decide how many weapons he would need to exterminate us. Once he had done so, the killing would come at night. This theory was quickly debunked when we discovered that the elders did not fear him; in fact, they were talking to him and shaking his hand. Naturally, then the pendulum swung and the next notion positied that he was a god, and that he had come to save all of us, and would lead us back to southern Sudan, to triumph over the murahaleen. This idea gained currency throughout the day, and was underminded only when we catalogued the activities in which the god engaged. He spent most of his time with a few of the elders, building a storage shed for food, which seemed like work too pedestrian for a god or even a minor deity. Thereafter, some of the older boys offered more nuanced views." (pp. 279-280)

missing-michelle suzanne

2009-08-13T17:16:00.001-07:00

Things that I have noticed missing lately:
tweezers
black cardigan
one red shoe
a hairclip
my money
my brains

riddle.st.ofle.(missing.)

2009-08-13T14:03:00.000-07:00

What's missing from this???
Follow these steps and see if you can figure this out.

1) Get a brown, cardboard box.
2) Get purple, orange, and turquoise (or blue) paints.
3) Paint the box orange.
4) Paint your hand turquoise, and smear it on the box (before the orange paint dries).
5) With the purple paint, write your name and date of birth.
7) Turn it upside down.
8) Lie on your side, and look at the end you DIDN'T write on.

What is missing from this sequence?

(these are pictures that I took, because I can't stand not taking pictures.)

missing

2009-08-13T11:04:00.001-07:00

Cubist Living

2009-08-07T14:10:00.001-07:00

Bella has a cubist mouth.

And I think this spider sees his world as a cubist painting.

i misunderstand 87 percent of 100 percent of what i hear.

2009-08-06T19:40:00.000-07:00

that's no joke. i am also notorious for bending the edges of the english language. so on to cubism.

it's commonly defined as the practice of thinking outside of the cube. i know plenty of people who do it. here is one:

that's mom. she is a singer. on any given performance, she is likely to do any of the following:
- not wear underwear;
- wear a mask;
- make out with a dead animal;
- booty grind someone in the audience;
- make you a little nervous that she might cross that line you really don't want her to cross.

that's what i call thinking outside the cube. what? it's not? there is no such a thing? well, now there is.

talking about mom, though, i heard she broke up with herself. i hope i am also wrong about that.

and one last thing: my habitual medium is polaroid. that one was taken last summer.

cubism -- saint oh fool

2009-08-06T12:12:00.000-07:00

I know what cubism is, and this isn't it
but these are cubes.

every day I've been doing one of these quadcam shots.
first thing.

it reminds me of a story that i heard; Chuck Close once told a reporter that he likes to start the day off "with a shot". The reporter asked what brand Close drinks, to which he hield up his camera and said "Kodak"!
silly.

Here's another one;
It's my great grandmother's 95th birthday (we're Mexican, and live longer than you) and as she's going around greeting all of the family, my Grandmother (her daughter) said, "Mom, before all of this keeps going, and you tire out too much, we have to get you a shot" to which I (taking the same bait Close's reporter took) said "oh no, is she sick? what does she need" -- my grandmother laughed and said "Tequila!"

Prometheus -- St.Ofle

2009-07-30T19:03:00.000-07:00

“Do you like the story about Prometheus?” she asked.
(calmly)
It came from nowhere.
I asked her if that was the one about the man with the wax wings, and she laughed and said "of course not".
(I pretended to be kidding)

(if you know me, you know how much I love a blurry photo)

myth

2009-07-30T16:54:00.000-07:00

Snuff films are not real. No one has ever found any evidence of snuff films being made for entertainment, distribution, or profit. However, in the early 90's a woman named Karla Homolka and her husband Paul Bernardo murdered four women and videotaped it. One women was a minor whose identity was never disclosed and another was Karl's younger sister. Karla struck a deal with the prosecutors and testified against her husband, claiming he forced her to do it. He got life in prison and she received 12 years in prison for manslaughter. Shortly after the sentencing, some 8mm tapes were recovered that showed all four women being tortured and raped. They also showed that Karla was a very active participant and killed two of the women.

"Look, Listen, and Learn"

2009-07-30T16:37:00.001-07:00

Myths of My People

2009-07-30T08:16:00.000-07:00

I don't know if it's all parents but the myths and stories that come out of the Latino culture are either really clever in stopping kids from going with strangers and doing bad things, or they show that parents will say anything to get their kids to behave.

I clearly remember walking to a pay phone with my mom when I was about 5 and a lady stopped to talk to her. I didn't hear what it was about but later my mom told me that the lady had offered to buy me if I was being a difficult little girl. I later came to realize that the women in my family did this a lot. They'd threaten your bad behavior with the possibility of selling you to a stranger.

Even us kids started some myths of our own. Whenever I was angry with my brother I would tell him that the local bag lady was his real mother and that our parents found him in the trash. I've heard other kids tell their siblings this too. My brother would even tell it to me sometimes.

There are, of course, the classics. Which I'm realizing more and more were about getting kids to do their chores and yes, maybe keeping them safe. In El Salvador there is this evil entity named El Cipitillo. He wears a big hat so you can't see his face and his feet are backwards. So if you were to see him and you think he's facing away from you because his feet are turned the other way, he's actually staring right at you. The kicker is that he only comes and kidnaps little girls and is lured to your house by any ash left in the kitchen or stove. My mother told me that when she was young she always feared him since cleaning the kitchen was her job.

There are also myths to keep men honest. There's a certain boogie woman named La Siguanaba. She tricks and attacks men who are single or living out of wedlock or who are unfaithful to their wives. She'll go after them at night on dark country roads. I guess that's El Salvador's idea of feminism.

myth

2009-07-30T00:39:00.000-07:00

This is going to sound like gibberish to you (and I understand), but to this day, I have never seen any compelling evidence for the cosmic evolution (the big bang theory) or even the macro evolution. I think it's a myth.

Now, I love science, I love biology and especially planetary astronomy. I have studied this subject diligently and I have spoken to a number of my professors about this and came to a conclusion that most respected scientists and educators in this field simply assume the theory to be true because these things have been proven and accepted long ago so there is no longer the need for the proof. Many studies and extensive researches have been done and published on this topic.

And yet, I have never seen any compelling evidence that this world came to existence on it's own, without any outside intervention.

Please don't think that I am ignorant. Maybe you know something that I don't. If so, please share!

24hr Pola (exercise)

2009-07-23T20:50:00.000-07:00

imagine a world in which you could take your Polaroid to the gym.
this is what it would look like.

now imagine that the flash went off as I took this, and I was asked to leave.
imagine it.

love,
Richard

exercise

2009-07-23T18:08:00.000-07:00

My grandmother had this Schwinn exercise bike, hers was yellow. Rob's grandmother had the same one in off-white. I said that perhaps my grandmother's bike was originally off-white, but became yellow because she smoked indoors. Rob's grandmother used to smoke indoors too.

EXERCISE

2009-07-23T15:44:00.000-07:00

your mind
read Ayn Rand
read the Bible
sleep
stop caring so much about love(it's not real anymore)
listen to Andrew Bird
sleep
die

Get fucking physical!

2009-07-23T15:00:00.000-07:00

montage

2009-07-16T23:46:00.000-07:00

I have been saving this paper for a special occasion.

Bouncey Bounce

2009-07-16T17:07:00.000-07:00

Musical Montage Magic.

MONTAGE

2009-07-16T14:37:00.000-07:00

hollow courtship runon pointless faint dream creeping endless timeless wasted fuckin jaded destroy demand ended craving seething teething war war hands waving hands bleeding cities countries children hunting worn wearin down down hear speak breath need crave pour drink eat wake never fully ever shiver shake la mer haunted sexuality curves angles charcoal to paper memory history capsize explain express stomach take it out out out how can you live with yourself?

-c. wolfe

Montage (mossffiti) -- St.Ofle

2009-07-16T11:26:00.000-07:00

I read about how to make graffiti with moss.
pretty badass.
so I made some.
my great pal Elisha sent some hand-picked moss from the coast.
Here's how it looks.

(recipe = dry-ish moss, 1/2 gallon of buttermilk, blender.
paint on a wall with a paintbrush
hint; wait until summer is over)

Montage

2009-07-16T11:25:00.000-07:00

I made this for my mommy for Mommy's Day:

Besties/Worsties

2009-07-10T15:06:00.000-07:00

I have a strong and abiding love for oddities. A picture of a rose is unarguably a thing of beauty. A picture of a chimpanzee dancing with a rose in its mouth is genius. At least that's how I see it.

That said, there are some things I find too odd. Here are two examples of things that are odd. One is something I love so much and the other is so abhorent I actually had a nightmare after seeing it for the first time. You be the judge.

Best/Worst - graciela

2009-07-10T08:31:00.000-07:00

My best and worst are both food related. I am a vegetarian, an environmentalist, and I am a nut about health advocacy.

The best part of my week has been seeing my plants develop and start to set flowers that will go on to create fruit. Right now I have a pimento pepper that is growing bigger by the day and I have the smallest little butternut squash that (hopefully) will become a full blown squash if the flower is pollinated. As a lifelong city dweller I've really kept myself in the dark about food production and the work, the techniques, and the amazing natural developments that go into planting a seed and producing food. It's something we all take for granted and a lot of us don't even know what the botanical plant of various fruits and veggies look like (I had no idea what artichoke looked like as a plant). We, as a society and culture, have pushed agriculture to certain spaces and areas of the country and we don't look within our own environment and community to do the dirty work. I look at all the manicured lawns in southern California, a climate that cannot sustain lush green grass without major consequences, and I think about the waste of space and water that could go into maintaining plants that will produce something useful. On my street alone, actually let's downscale, on the strip of grassy courtyard in my complex, we could feed all 16 units if we got rid of the grass and planted food. There is such a culture of waste that we've grown accustomed to and lawns in the middle of a drought are just another hit of collateral damage. Why should we grow food in our own yards when we can just go to the supermarket?

Meanwhile...

This morning, part of that question was answered. On a special segment of NPR they talked to people in central California, aptly dubbed, "America's food basket", and they discussed the climbing obesity and poverty rates in the region. A lot of it came down to economics, politics, the lack of infrastructure, and limited access to fresh fruits and veggies. Yes, the same region that feeds America and grows some of the best fruits, vegetables, and nuts can't even feed itself. Coronary terrorists like McDonald's, Taco Bell, and Carl's Jr have set up shop at all of these little towns. One of the residents of Kettleman City named off all of the opportunistic fast food joints that people eat at regularly and I knew exactly what she was talking about. While I lived in Northern California, I made the drive on the 5 between Sacramento and Los Angeles. I know all those stops like the back of my hand. There is nothing but junk food all along the way. These rural communities don't have enough grocery stores so one must travel far to get their 5-a day. Why not just go to their backyards? Up until last year, Fresno had a city ordinance that barred local Farmer's Markets from setting up shop. We have them all over the country and vendors still have to make a trip to get to various locales but the actual places where the food grows can't just sell it to their own community? Ridiculous, right?! I'd imagine that was a political and business interested ordinance that lacked any concern for the public. The central valley's problems go beyond just food and leak into problems of gangs, wild packs of dogs, severe poverty, drug use, and anything else you could think of that would limit a person to eat well and exercise regularly. Even these far flung communities are being affected by the problems that modernity brings and the consequences of a fat and unhealthy America.

With so much of the central valley's own food going out of the community to feed everyone else, I can only expect the situation to become worst as our climate continues to change, populations keep booming, suburbs and development encroaches on land, and we as citizens become more and more ignorant about what it REALLY means to eat. So any land or space available in the city to grow vegetables and fruit in the ground or in containers should be treated as the luxurious commodity that it is. One of these days, we'll be forced to feed ourselves and when that day comes, we'll be too full of Facebook and microchips to know what humans have known how to do for thousands of years before the middle of the 20th century. Growing food is not a mystery and the information is out there. I'll be harvesting peppers, you know where to find me, when you want to do it too.

best/worst

2009-07-09T21:38:00.000-07:00

this is quite possibly the best thing to happen to me this week or ever.

plus i kicked out 6 new pieces.

heres a sample:

boy will some websites really make art work look shitty?!?!?!

St.Ofle -- Best/Worst

2009-07-09T19:13:00.003-07:00

This is an easy one.
The best thing that happened all week was the Paperrad show at Fun Castle.
Actually -- the coolest show I've seen in a long time, and if Michael Jackson hadn't died earlier in the month, I'd call this the coolest event of July.
(it wasn't and won't be, but top 10)

all kidding aside;
only once in a while does something this beautiful, heartfelt and strange come around.

here are some photos I took in the dark.

also;
watch this (unless you're crazy)

metaphysical interdependence

2009-07-02T20:30:00.000-07:00

I know what you are thinking, what does this have to do with independence? I went to the Old City Cemetery today to paint. Naturally, it got me thinking about life and death. The cemetery represents the conclusion of the cycle of life. According the map at the cemetery many bodies are buried on top of each other.

Only through death are we fully liberated from our material desires, our obligations, and all of the trials and tribulations that make it difficult to be a human being. Every persons cosmology is unique, these days I find myself prone to the belief that only in the conclusion of your life will the universes infinite nature be revealed to you. It seems fair; if we suffer through life and the pain of our incomplete knowledge, when we finally finish we should be rewarded with the truth about the space, time, and the source of life.

The problem with this philosophy is that it doesn't include any kind of punishment for a life of misbehavior. Or...maybe it does, perhaps punishment is never knowing, or maybe even having to suffer through life again and again until you figure it out. To be whole we must realize that positive concepts create negatives concepts. For there to be heaven, or enlightenment, than there must be an absence of heaven. However, an absence of heaven is not hell. IF God does exist, than I think it is a pantheistic God including all of the universe, infinite, all knowing, all pervading, and totally complete.

The bible seems to have it's heart in the right place, but it has created a religious monster! Why would a god that is kind and loving create a place like hell? Hell almost negates what God is! The idea was to create a guide to help us live in harmony, but over time that objective has been lost. IF God is real than I believe that our sole purpose is to be happy. This happiness is achieved through an enlightened understanding of the interdependence of all things. This understanding prevents hatred and fear and promotes living a life of mutual cooperation through the realization that we are equal and necessary parts of the universe. Now here is the part that no one will like, the way we achieve this higher consciousness is through love!

Love is the only thing that gives meaning to our temporal existence, love removes pain, love moves to include the unloving! There is no higher action than selfless love. Our united destiny is to return hatred with love. Being loving is being unafraid, through the action of love we fully realize and embrace our interdependence.

Why love everyone and everything? Why suppress your predispositions? Why should our primary concern be the welfare of the earth and it's inhabitants? Because what is missing in your life is a feeling of wholeness, of a higher level of openness, of inner peace that you can attain(and you know you can attain it). When we are reaching towards this goal we are becoming closer to God(maybe?), closer to being one with our universe, and more importantly, we are becoming closer to the understanding of what will be shown to us at the conclusion of our lives.

in-dependance -- St.Ofle

2009-07-02T11:15:00.000-07:00

I got my camera back!

Independence is FREEDOM!

2009-07-02T10:30:00.000-07:00

TURN IT UP!

STORYTIME

2009-06-25T12:52:00.000-07:00

This little old John Hall Wheelock poem wove such a tale in my head as a young'un that would completely define my thoughts on soulmates later in life..

la de da

On an unrelated note, I'm currently (finally) reading David Sedaris and he is hilarious. He is Shel Silverstein for adults.
Here's one of my favorite short stories from the book When You are Engulfed in Flames:

Memento Mori

For the past ten years or so, I’ve made it a habit to carry a small notebook in my front pocket. The model I favor is called the Europa, and I pull it out an average of ten times a day, jotting down grocery lists, observations, and little thoughts on how to make money, or torment people. The last page is always reserved for phone numbers, and the second to last I use for gift ideas. These are not things I might give to other people, but things that they might give to me: a shoehorn, for instance—always wanted one. The same goes for a pencil case, which, on the low end, probably costs no more than a doughnut.

I’ve also got ideas in the five-hundred-to-two-thousand-dollar range, though those tend to be more specific. This nineteenth-century portrait of a dog, for example. I’m not what you’d call a dog person, far from it, but this particular one—a whippet, I think—had alarmingly big nipples, huge, like bolts screwed halfway into her belly. More interesting was that she seemed aware of it. You could see it in her eyes as she turned to face the painter. “Oh, not now,” she appeared to be saying. “Have you no decency?”

I saw the portrait at the Portobello Road market in London, and though I petitioned, hard, for months, nobody bought it for me. I even tried initiating a pool, and offered to throw in a few hundred dollars of my own money, but still no one bit. In the end I gave the money to my boyfriend, Hugh, and had him buy it. Then I had him wrap it up, and offer it to me.

“What’s this for?” I asked.

And following the script he said, “Do I need a reason to give you a present?”

Then I said, “Awwwww.”

It never works the other way round, though. Ask Hugh what he wants for Christmas or his birthday and he’ll answer saying, “You tell me.”

“Well, isn’t there something you’ve had your eye on?”

“Maybe. Maybe not.”

Hugh thinks that lists are the easy way out, and says that if I really knew him I wouldn’t have to ask what he wanted. It’s not enough to search the shops; I have to search his soul as well. He turns gift-giving into a test, which I don’t think is fair at all. Were I the type to run out at the last minute, he might have a valid complaint, but I start my shopping months in advance. Plus I pay attention. If, say, in the middle of the summer, Hugh should mention that he’d like an electric fan, I’ll buy it that very day, and hide it in my gift cupboard. Come Christmas morning, he’ll open his present, and frown at it for a while before I say, “Don’t you remember? You said you were burning up, and would give anything for a little relief.”

That’s just a practical gift, though, a stocking stuffer. His main present is what I’m really after, and, knowing this, he offers no help whatsoever. Or, rather, he used to offer no help. It wasn’t until last year that he finally dropped a hint, and even then it was fairly cryptic. “Go out the front door, and turn right,” he said. “Then take a left and keep walking.”

He did not say “Stop before you reach the boulevard,” or “When you come to the Czech border you’ll know you’ve gone too far,” but he didn’t need to. I knew what he was talking about the moment I saw it. It was a human skeleton, the genuine article, hanging in the window of a medical bookstore. Hugh’s old drawing teacher used to have one, and though it had been ten years since he’d taken the woman’s class, I could suddenly recall him talking about it. “If I had a skeleton like Minerva’s . . .” he used to say. I don’t remember the rest of the sentence, as I’d always been sidetracked by the teacher’s name, Minerva. Sounds like a witch.

There are things that one enjoys buying, and things that one doesn’t. Electronic equipment, for example—I hate shopping for stuff like that, no matter how happy it will make the recipient. I feel the same about gift certificates, and books about golf or investment strategies or how to lose twelve pounds by being yourself. I thought I would enjoy buying a human skeleton, but, looking through the shop window, I felt a familiar tug of disappointment. This had nothing to do with any moral considerations. I was fine with buying someone who’d been dead for a while; I just didn’t want to have to wrap him. Finding a box would be a pain, and then there’d be the paper, which would have to be attached in strips because no one sells rolls that wide. Between one thing and another, I was almost relieved when told that the skeleton was not for sale. “He’s our mascot,” the store manager said. “We couldn’t possibly get rid of him.”

In America this translates to “Make me an offer,” but in France people really mean it. There are shops in Paris where nothing is for sale, no matter how hard you beg. I think people get lonely. Their apartments become full, and, rather than rent a storage space, they take over a boutique. Then they sit there in the middle of it, gloating over their fine taste.

Being told that I couldn’t buy a skeleton was just what I needed to make me really want one. Maybe that was the problem all along—it was too easy: “Take a right, take a left, and keep walking.” It took the hunt out of it.

“Do you know anyone who will sell me their skeleton?” I asked, and the manager thought for a while. “Well,” she said, “I guess you could try looking on bulletin boards.”

I don’t know what circles this woman runs in, but I have never in my life seen a skeleton advertised on a bulletin board. Used bicycles, yes, but no human bones, or even cartilage, for that matter.

“Thank you for your help,” I said.
Because I have nothing better to do with my time than shop, I tend to get excited when someone wants something obscure: an out-of-print novel, a replacement for a shattered teacup. I thought that finding another skeleton would prove difficult, but I came across two more that very afternoon—one a full-grown male and the other a newborn baby. Both were at the flea market, offered by a man who specializes in what he calls “the sorts of things that are not for everyone.”

The baby was tempting because of its size—I could have wrapped it in a shoebox—but, ultimately, I went for the adult, which is three hundred years old and held together by a network of fine wires. There’s a latch in the center of the forehead, and removing the linchpin allows you to open the skull and either root around or hide things—drugs, say, or small pieces of jewelry. It’s not what one hopes for when thinking about an afterlife (“I’d like for my head to be used as a stash box”), but I didn’t let that bother me. I bought the skeleton the same way I buy most everything. It was just an arrangement of parts to me, no different from a lamp or a chest of drawers.

I didn’t think of it as a former person until Christmas Day, when Hugh opened the cardboard coffin. “If you don’t like the color we can bleach it,” I said. “Either that or exchange it for the baby.”

I always like to offer a few alternatives, though in this case they were completely unnecessary. Hugh was beside himself—couldn’t have been happier. I assumed he’d be using the skeleton as a model, and was a little put off when, instead of taking it to his basement studio, he carried it into the bedroom, and hung it from the ceiling.

“Are you sure about this?” I asked.

The following morning, I reached under the bed for a discarded sock and found what I thought was a three-tiered earring. It looked like something you’d get at a crafts fair, not pretty, but definitely handmade, fashioned from what looked like petrified wood. I was just holding it to the side of my head when I thought, Hang on, this is an index finger. It must have fallen off while Hugh was hanging the skeleton. Then he or I or possibly his mother, who was in town for the holidays, accidentally kicked it under the bed.

I don’t think of myself as overly prissy, but it bothered me to find a finger on my bedroom floor. “If this thing is going to start shedding parts, you really should put it down in your studio,” I said to Hugh, who told me that it was his present and he’d keep it wherever he wanted to. Then he got out some wire and reattached the missing finger.

It’s the things you don’t buy that stay with you the longest. This portrait of an unknown woman, for instance. I saw it a few years ago in Rotterdam, and, rather than following my instincts, I told the dealer that I’d think about it. The next day, I returned, and it was gone, sold, which is maybe for the best. Had I bought it myself, the painting would have gone on the wall of my office. I’d have admired it for a week or two, and then, little by little, it would have become invisible, just like the portrait of the dog. I wanted it, I wanted it, I wanted it, but the moment it was mine it ceased to interest me. I no longer see the shame-filled eyes or the oversized nipples, but I do see the unknown woman, her ruddy, pious face, and the lace collar that hugged her neck like an air filter.

As the days pass, I keep hoping that the skeleton will become invisible, but he hasn’t. Dangling between the dresser and the bedroom door, he is the last thing I see before falling asleep, and the first thing I see in the morning.

It’s funny how certain objects convey a message—my washer and dryer, for example. They can’t speak, of course, but whenever I pass them they remind me that I’m doing fairly well. “No more laundromat for you,” they hum. My stove, a downer, tells me every day that I can’t cook, and before I can defend myself my scale jumps in, shouting from the bathroom, “Well, he must be doing something—my numbers is off the charts.” The skeleton has a much more limited vocabulary, and says only one thing: “You are going to die.”

I’d always thought that I understood this, but lately I realize that what I call “understanding” is basically just fantasizing. I think about death all the time, but only in a romantic, self-serving way, beginning, most often, with my tragic illness, and ending with my funeral. I see my brother squatting beside my grave, so racked with guilt he’s unable to stand. “If only I’d paid him back that twenty-five thousand dollars I borrowed,” he says. I see Hugh, drying his eyes on the sleeve of his suit jacket, then crying even harder when he remembers I bought it for him. What I didn’t see were all the people who might celebrate my death, but that’s all changed with the skeleton, who assumes features at will.

One moment he’s an elderly Frenchwoman, the one I didn’t give my seat to on the bus. In my book, if you want to be treated like an old person, you have to look like one. That means no face-lift, no blond hair, and definitely no fishnet stockings. I think it’s a perfectly valid rule, but it wouldn’t have killed me to take her crutches into consideration.

“I’m sorry,” I say, but before the words are out of my mouth the skeleton has morphed into a guy named Stew, who I shorted in a drug deal.

Stew and the Frenchwoman will be happy to see me go, and there are hundreds more in line behind them, some whom I can name, and others whom I managed to hurt and insult without a formal introduction. I hadn’t thought of these people in years, but that’s the skeleton’s cleverness. He gets into my head when I’m asleep, and picks through the muck at the bottom of my skull. “Why me?” I ask. “Hugh is lying in the very same bed—how come you don’t go after him?”

And the skeleton says, “You are going to die.”

“But I’m the one who found your finger.”

“You are going to die.”

I said to Hugh, “Are you sure you wouldn’t be happier with the baby?”

For the first few weeks, I heard the voice only when I was in the bedroom. Then it spread and took over the entire apartment. I’ll be sitting in my office, gossiping on the telephone, and the skeleton will cut in, sounding like an international operator. “You are going to die.”

I stretch out in the bathtub, soaking in fragrant oils while outside my window beggars are gathered like kittens upon the heating grates.

“You are going to die.”

In the kitchen, I throw away a perfectly good egg. In the closet, I put on a sweater that some half-blind child was paid ten sesame seeds to make. In the living room, I take out my notebook, and add a bust of Satan to the list of gifts I should like to receive.

“You are going to die. You are going to die. You are going to die.”

“Do you think you could alter that just a little?” I asked.

But he wouldn’t.

Having been dead for three hundred years, there’s a lot the skeleton doesn’t understand; TV, for instance. “See,” I told him, “you just push this button and entertainment comes into your home.” He seemed impressed, and so I took it a step further: “I invented it myself, to bring comfort to the old and sick.”

“You are going to die.”

He was the same with the vacuum cleaner, even after I used the nozzle attachment to dust his skull. “You are going to die.”

And that’s when I broke down. “I’ll do anything you like,” I said. “I’ll make amends to the people I’ve hurt, I’ll bathe in rainwater, you name it, just please say something, anything else.”

The skeleton hesitated a moment. “You are going to be dead . . . someday,” he told me.

And I put away the vacuum cleaner, thinking, Well, that’s a start.

St.Ofle -- Scratch Story

2009-06-25T10:39:00.000-07:00

This is my favorite Lee "Scratch" Perry story;

(in the words of Adam Horovitz)
"I had the pleasure of meeting Lee Perry. We were on tour in Hong Kong, and for some reason he was there. He's a very little guy, like your craziest grandfather. He had on a shiny outfit with little things taped all over him: notes, a lot of pictures, studs, mirrors and bottle caps. Each thing had a meaning to it.
He had an old video camera and was taping everything - constantly. The sky, the buildings, all of us -- 24 hours a day, he'd tape everything around him, and he'd point it at himself as he slept at night -- except he had no videotape in the camera. He said he just liked the way people acted when they felt like they were being taped."

Best of the Best

2009-06-18T21:48:00.000-07:00

The who still makes me go, "Whoa," after nearly 14 years.

My inspiration, the reminder that life really is beautiful, and an amazing photographer - my grandma Ata Kando.

My favorite photo from my old, late friend, pen pal and other inspiration, Eva Besnyo

Whale Shark Spirit.

Little bird.

The man who survived wearing the gold star in Nazi-infested Hungary to come to California to create me - in front of his house on the Bloomgracht, Amsterdam.

The funniest guy, pictured here with some joker.

The one who makes me lose my shit, even when we're not on the Zipper.

My golden girl.

My Lindsey. Everyone thought we were sisters, so I stopped correcting them.

Long Distance BFF.

2009-06-18T15:51:00.001-07:00

I have a lot of friends. Some I'm really close to, others are just slightly above acquaintances.
Most of my close friends are the other musicians I choose to play with, mostly because I'd rather play music than have a night life. After reading Jessica's post earlier, I thought I'd write about someone who's made a huge impact on my life, but also someone I don't see too often. My friend; the amazing Mike Peterson.

It was sometime in ealry 2005. I don't remember the exact date, forgive me. Our friends in Cowboy Killer had just flipped their van outside of Sacramento while heading out on what was to be their first tour (incidentaly, their last one too.) Matt called us and asked if we would want to save their northwest tour by jumping on board and we all us the T.O.D. van. Biaggio and I had just been up there for the first time a month or two before that and had a blast, so it was an easy "Yes!"
I don't remember where we played at the first night, though I'll say it was probably in Portland. The 2nd night, we were to play in Seattle at some place called "The Asshole Castle" which turned out to be a house (naturally, I don't think anyone would name their bar or venue such a thing.)
Admitidley, I was in a bad mood for one reason or another...and not exactly thrilled about playing at a punk house. I'm sure laughing out loud at the Orange with Black Bats painted drum kit didn't make me look too friendly and neither did the fact that I approaced everything in the house like it had v.d.
We were first to play and our set went pretty well. After taking our gear down, I went outside for a cigarette.
I'm sitting on the porch, enjoying my smoke, when this crazy looking fucking lumberjack mountain man walks up to me. We make small talk, but no mention of him performing or anything. For some reason, he strikes me as a really nice guy despite the fact that he looks like he could go insane on someone for crossing him.

A couple of hours later, I'm outside partying when my friend Dan runs over and practically shouts "Hey! You've gotta go inside and see this!"

I went in and had what they call a "religious experience" when I watched SEAN play! Mike was laying it in to the Orange with Black Bats painted drum kit! In between songs, he slammed beers and pounded joints! I couldn't believe THIS GUY was fucking shit up so hard on THIS DRUMSET! His partner in crime; Luke is the shit too, but that's obvious when you listen to or watch them. These guys are one of my favorite bands ever! Moving on...

Since then, I've gotten to know Mike very well. I've stayed at his house, got to know his (now ex) wife, met his Mom, and have partied the baby off with everything under the sun with this guy!

He teaches drums to people of all ages at the fabulous SEATTLE DRUM SCHOOL.

He has the best decorated house in the entire tri-state area!

His cat, Ralph is awesome too!

He's my hero for several reasons, including the ones listed above, but also because he's toured the world, has great taste in music and drums, HATES RUSH!, loves to party, and has a weird sense of humour! All things I can relate to!

Another thing about Mike, is that he makes everything! Ever seen a saw blade clock? Ever known someone to put one of those circular submarine windows in their "saloon" that they've built themselves?

Not to mention the cool things he makes for his friends! Apparently, he was out one night, saw some poster and decided that the guy on the poster looked like me! So he took the posters and pasted one on a painted piece of board, gave me cowboy boots and a wiener, put a hook on it, and gave it to me. He has another that he has pasted on the bottom of an empty 12 pack box.

So much for my first contribution to Topical Thursday. Me rambling about one of my favorite people that you'l probably never meet. Unless you want to take drum lessons in the northwest, go to a SEAN show, or see The Accused on tour!

Best friends...

2009-06-18T14:22:00.000-07:00

...are the people in your life who can go away for weeks, months, even years...and upon your next meeting, everything is like you were hanging out yesterday.

I love my friends. A lot of them are the best.

sb - bff

2009-06-18T12:24:00.001-07:00

my sisters - lana & zeina.

my mom is pregnant with me. i wonder if she knew that her 3 daughters would be such good friends on top of being sisters... it's like i was born with 2 guaranteed bffs... i find that lucky.

these are my best friends

2009-06-18T11:51:00.000-07:00

I met Biaggio, Rob, and Catherine on New Year's Eve of 2004. They are the funniest people I know, we have done a whole lot of partying together and have been on many crazy adventures. Catherine and I lived one block away from each other in San Francisco, but we didn't know each other then. Biaggio is Rob's band mate and Catherine is his girlfriend. They play in an instrumental two piece band, Times of Desperation. Since then we have been everywhere together; every scary part of every ghetto in the latest hours of the night, and tons buildings we judged as structurally unsound in the event of an earthquake. I wonder how many hours we have spent in Biaggio's van together? Most recently they played at Skinner's opening at 111 Minna in San Francisco. It was wonderful to see so many faces from Sacramento there. We went on tour with them in the Northwest, it was my first time in Seattle. We drank absinthe, took pills every day, smoked a million joints, and slept in the van and on the ground. I hope we move away soon, Sacramento is a poisonous place where no one ever gets tired of anything.

Rob shredding his drums apart.

This is Biaggio in our friend Mike's saloon in Seattle. His house looks like a gold rush museum.

This is Catherine after some Absinthe.

Looking related.

Rob using his Argus and it's matching light meter in Portland.

In Seattle.

The boys in the saloon.

Biaggio, Rob, and I in a basement somewhere.

BFF - Jessalyn

2009-06-18T11:50:00.000-07:00

March 2007.
Java Lounge. Sacramento, California.
Photograph courtesy of Jeannie MacDonald.

Jocelyn Jade & Jessalyn Joy:
born 10 days apart in the month of January,
both spent their earliest childhoods in the city of San Francisco
& from the moment they found each other in the
foothills of the Sierra Nevadas eight years ago, inseparable:
you are my twin star

am i human

BFF

2009-06-18T11:37:00.000-07:00

Alex

Terra

Debbie

Vi

Erica

Aram

some of the people I love and trust, and who inspire me endlessly

Tough Love Since '01

2009-06-18T10:15:00.000-07:00

2 days ago - graciela.

2009-06-18T09:25:00.001-07:00

My best friend, Mimi, moved away to Hawaii on my birthday.

BFF -- St.Ofle

2009-06-18T08:43:00.000-07:00

Summer - Jessalyn

2009-06-11T22:49:00.000-07:00

That was the summer I woke on the solstice to find teeth under my pillow. I asked if they were yours. You patiently explained that they could not be, opened your mouth wide to show that there were none missing. After tea and toast I cut my hair very short, long chestnut curls covering my tanned feet and the speckled bathroom tile. I mailed half of my locks to Anna and the other half I buried with the teeth on the left bank of the river. Before you left you gave my sister a silk bag filled with plum stones and said to her, 'Thank you.' To me you gave the third of the salt lessons : say what you couldn't say, say what you couldn't say and move on.

am i human

Summer - Michelle

2009-06-11T12:43:00.001-07:00

White Wine Sangria. Yum.

(let me know if you want the recipe!!!)

SUMMER

2009-06-11T12:37:00.000-07:00

La Garriga, Spain

Summer

2009-06-11T09:55:00.001-07:00

summer HOLGA st.ofle

2009-06-11T08:07:00.000-07:00

Underground II

2009-06-04T20:42:00.000-07:00

I'm probably breaking some rule now by posting a second time in one day, but I realized after my previous post that this is the 20th anniversary of Tienanmen Square. Amazing how things have changed in two decades, and how an underground movement has surfaced so massively. Thousands of people came out for a vigil, and the pictures are outstanding for a country that still puts down any movement it considers dangerous:

versus

Underground

2009-06-04T20:30:00.000-07:00

Simbarashe thought it would be a cliche to take pictures of the NYC underground for this post, but I did it anyway, not in the least because I spend a great deal of time down there. I was going to make a collage, but Photoshop and I are not as close as I thought. So here are a few (mostly unadulterated) shots:

(semi) underground

2009-06-04T12:24:00.000-07:00