Light Graffiti

As some of you know, I sort of 'collect' street art. Unfortunately I haven't lived anywhere that's got world-class artists. Fortunately for me other people collect street art from aforementioned world-class artists and post them on flickr.

When I moved to Portland I got exposed to chalk graffiti for the first time and I got obsessed with it. I love the innocence of it. You get your point across, you express yourself and no damage is done. I also love the ephemeral nature of chalk and the sort of "self-destructive art" theme. Also the people doing it tended to just focus on the words and not on the execution, which I appreciate.

So you can imagine how fucking giddy I was when I started learning about light graffiti. It's like the concept of chalk graffiti taken to the Nth degree. I realize that I'm behind the times in terms of finding out about it. Hell, Wired covered it in 2005. But how cool is this?

PIPS:lab Lumasol project

I need to get me a video camera and some LEDs from work. :)

892 892

I know what the hottest Halloween costume in Italy will be this year.
Perhaps (if someone will join me) I'll be their state-side ambassador.

Statement = Craig Damrauer + Mother Jones

Found this via TreeHugger. Mother Jones published Craig Damrauer's new math for global warming. Rather witty.

great track names

Blonde Redhead's Melody of Certain Damaged Lemons
Track 4 - Hated Because of Great Qualities
Track 5 - Loved Despite of Great Faults

III
Nor moon, nor stars were out:
They did not dare to tread so soon about,
Though trembling, in the footsteps of the sun;
The light was neither night's nor day's, but one
Which, life-like, had a beauty in its doubt,
And Silence's impassioned breathings round
Seemed wandering into sound.

-from Elizabeth Barrett Browning's A Sea-Side Walk

proportions

You would think that the pain of something leaving your life would be proportionate to the joy it used to bring...

Home

What a contested word...
I felt a little bit of it yesterday when I saw Mr.B. We were driving down to Fairhill to go on a hike and as we soared over the hills on back country roads I felt a little looser in my chest. I felt a little calmer. I felt a little like I was home. It was so good to see him. I've known him so well and so long, it was such a comfort to be reminded that I have a history. I came from a place. I have known and loved people during my short stay on earth.

Life in Portland is all so new. There's no history between the west and myself. But here, in PA, I have roots. This land is quickly changing into something I don't recognize but there are people here whom I love. I feel so much more grounded and stable after seeing them again.

There's a lot going on during this trip. I'd love to delve into thoughts I've had while I stood on the Rocky Mountains or witnessed the changes in Fairhill but I'm short on time. There's just so much to cram into one trip.

PS: Burt's, the independent record shop of my high school years, is gone. It's not simply closed, it's completely gone. Half of my CDs still have Burt's price stickers on them. So it goes.

Quote of the Day

"What would your mother think?"
"What? About me harboring seals in the fridge?"
"No, about you punching seals in the face."

the writing on the wall... er, shopping list

I leaned in close to the shopping list on the kitchen counter. My foot tapped the floor as I tried to remember all the random items I wanted to get from the store.
"Trashcan for the main room."
"Storage for sweaters."
"Warm weather clothes."
Suddenly I blinked and leaned back. Looked over my shoulder uneasily and then back at the list. The handwriting was tiny.

After 24 years of knowing one another I've become rather good at noticing the warning signs I give off. I begin to wear my hair long (hiding behind it), I wear makeup more often (mask) and my handwriting becomes tiny (no idea). These stages... There's got to be a name for it. The I-doubt-myself-and-give-others-too-much-power-over-my-self-esteem stage. For the last year or so my confidence has been completely shot. Perhaps it's been longer. It has been awhile since I felt really sure of myself.

Need to get my confidence back. My handwriting depends on it.

So tell me about throwing a piano in the East River

"I had this old piano to get rid of in my room and I wanted to just leave it on a street corner—it was such a beautiful thing that I wanted it to affect someone else somehow. Then I got this idea to drop it into the water. I was thinking about how people talk about political change as just a drop of water in the ocean, and I wanted to make more than a drop—I wanted to make a big splash. Basically, I went to a friend and said I wanted to do this piece and I would sell it to him for the price of taking care of me if I got busted, lawyer fees and whatever else. If nothing happened, it would be free. I would call it "What The World Needs Now Is A White Piano In The East River." He was into it, and then it just started taking on so much meaning. It felt like if the point of what I had tried to say on Louden Up Now was missed, this could be me making that point again. And part of it was still about rebelliousness, even as a 34-year-old, doing what wasn't expected. I didn't have anything prepared beforehand, but at the moment I just honestly said I thought the world would be a better place if everybody followed their crazy dreams. That's all it had been up until that point: a crazy dream. Then I played a few bars of "What The World Needs Now Is Love," the Burt Bacharach and Hal David song, and pushed it in. It was one of the most incredible feelings I've ever had."
Nic Offer of !!! as interviewed by The A.V. Club

rrrrrun

No more running posts, I swear. That's because I moved them over here. The running entries didn't seem to mesh well with the other posts here. So this blog will be more about life/art/design/thoughts and the other will be strictly my running journal.

an organism's ability to store, retain, and subsequently recall information

I absolutely hate the way my memory functions. I can remember places vividly but not people. I can remember numbers (short term) but not names.

Another designer and I were chatting and he mentioned that we had met before. "Don't you remember? We met by the chalkboard at the portfolio showing." And I can remember the room with the chalkboard, I could tell you where the chairs were facing and how many tables were in the room but I cannot, for the life of me, remember meeting this guy.

I was trying to remember my great grandmother this afternoon and the only moments that came to mind were memories of her house, not her. I can remember her sun porch. It was thickly painted with a warm soldier gray and the wooden slats sloped down toward the front. She had aluminium lawn chairs with thick foam pads. They were pea green vinyl along the sides with a pea green and blue floral pattern on the top. I can remember the way the aluminium arms felt and the way they curved at the end. She had plants hanging throughout the porch with scratchy macrame holders. There was a sort of wind chime on one end of the porch made entirely of shells. It made this beautiful clinking noise when the wind blew through.

But I shouldn't remember her aluminium furniture! I should remember her eyes or what she said to me while she was alive. I wish I could. My mother tells me that she was the kindest, truest soul she's ever known. That she was so energetic and giving. But I can't remember any of this. I just fucking remember some shells and some lawn furniture. It's something but it doesn't feel important.

I wish there were a way to rewire the way one's memory functioned.

unstable

and it's our lives
it's hard to remember
we're alive for the first time
it's hard to remember
we're alive for the last time
it's hard to remember
to live before you die -mm

An acquaintance died the other day. I didn't know him well but his death has been such a blow. K died in Iraq. That was hard but I seemed to be able to understand it better. He was a soldier. J wasn't. His death was random, no purpose. He was just some random kid. He went to college. He filled his brain with thoughts and loves. He had so much potential. His whole life was a forward motion towards something. And suddenly he's just gone. All that potential, saved up, waiting to start. And it just disappeared.

I can't get my head around it.

It's official.

I booked my flights for Denver and Philly.

Eleven years ago

When I was 13 I had my portrait taken in dance class. The town's resident crazy artist decided to document the citizens and he was in our dance class one day. In the photograph my body is facing the right but my head is turned and I'm staring directly at the camera. I had my hair in some sort of pig tail thing. My features are young. My face is round. My eyes seem large. But what makes the picture is the look I'm giving the camera. It's so stern. There is almost a flicker of anger behind the eyes. The hair may say 'child' but the eyes say adult.

Today I was cleaning my apartment. I was wearing some sort of fitted tank top thing and my hair pulled back into pig tails. I was picking up something in the bathroom and as I lifted up I caught my reflection in the mirror. It was the exact pose of that portrait taken nearly 11 years ago. I had completely forgotten about that photograph until now.

The hair is longer. The eyes seem more tired. The woman is in an entirely different stage of life. But that flicker of... seriousness. Anger. Something. It's still there.

I wish I had a copy of the photograph to illustrate what I'm talking about. But I have no idea where it is. Probably in a box somewhere in Pennsylvania.

I'm bringing sweaty back.

So I have this thing. Ever since I was a little kid, I've been teased that I sweat too much. I get it from my father. Once when I was in dance class (I must have been about 8 or 9 at the time) my instructor actually told me I looked like a drowned rat in front of the class. It's just something I'm self conscious of and can't really do much about.

Recently I've been doing some sort of physical activity after work. I'll run or go for a bike ride. Granted, I'm no athlete but it feels really good to get reacquainted with my body. And so naturally I've been sweating my brains out. I'm starting to love it. I just put clothes on that are meant to get soaked and allow myself to sweat. It's freeing. I'm reclaiming sweating.

Prediction

Listening to classical music will become hip.
Just you watch.

Love in a Digital Age

So I went on my first internet "blind" date tonight. Not really blind since we met on a social networking/dating site. But still. We didn't know each other. Anywho. It went alright. Which is encouraging. No sparks, no magic, no amazing anything. Just two nervous, average people huddled in the corner of a bistro making small talk. It wasn't bad. We laughed. It wasn't spark-y either. Is this what dating is supposed to be like from now on? *Worried look*

On a similar note:
Anyone could be your brand new love.
I worry about my capacity to love. There are times that I feel like I could fall in love with anyone. I feel like I fall for anyone I get to know well. So which is it? Chicken or egg? Does getting to know someone well inevitably lead to love? Or do you love and therefore get to know intimately?
I guess it's a matter of investment. You love the ones you do because when you first met, there was a glimmer of something. Potential. Even if it was off in the distance. That's why you invest time and emotion in the relationship. There's got to be a glimmer or why would you bother? The question then is, do I see a glimmer in everyone?

Waiting for Godot

Or in my case the UPS delivery person.

I'm waiting for a package of one of my client's (BM) business cards. I used an online printer since the client's budget was next to nothing. I had the package sent to my apartment since I figured it would be unprofessional to have another client's project sent to my HG office. But my apartment building doesn't have an office so one has to be at home to receive a delivery from UPS or FedEx. It's frustrating enough that I can never catch personal packages. It's 10 times more frustrating when it's for a job that's already past deadline.

I've been trying to work on HG stuff while waiting at home but I can't seem to accomplish anything. Every 15 minutes I have to jump up and go for a walk. Then, panicked that I might have missed the UPS delivery I rush home to find that nothing's different. I'm clawing at the walls... I hate waiting.

Neue Haas Grotesk wasn't as catchy.

I saw Helvetica last night! It was amazing. I mean, the film was great. The director, Gary Hustwit (I Am Trying To Break Your Heart, Moog, and Drive Well, Sleep Carefully) was there to do a Q&A after the screening, as well as DAVID CARSON. (*giggles like a child*) But the coolest part of the evening was that I was in the middle of an absolutely packed theater of like-minded people who laughed at typography humor. If you love type (regardless of your feelings about Helvetica) you must see this film.

Oh, and design credit goes to Veer for the notebooks pictured above. The copy is a quote by Vignelli in the film: You can say 'I love you' in Helvetica. You can say it with Helvetica Extra Light if you want to be really fancy. You can say 'I hate you' in Helvetica. You can say it with Helvetica Extra Bold if you want to be really passionate.