taipei.twinkle.temptation.

tristesse.tango.

re-discovered these little misfits recently
(crayon on butcher paper)

their current residence is M&J's apartment in Ohio
captured them hiding in random corners

extraordinary.ears.

I'm still in awe. Today I enjoyed a concert sponsored by the American Pianists Association, featuring Nobuyuki Tsujii, a 20 year old Japanese pianist. He played a stunning programme of Chopin, Liszt, Schubert, and Mussorgsky ...almost flawlessly.

Tsujii has been blind since birth.

He plays piano by ear, first listening to a live or recorded version of the piece, memorizing what he hears, and then matching his playing to the score he has memorized. Tsujii most recently won the prestigious Van Cliburn competition.

Ray Charles and Stevie Wonder are one thing... jazz pianists "crawl" across the keys mostly, emphasizing the easygoing manner of jazz. Classical pieces, however, can be frightening. Many contain giant leaps that take courage from any pianist, let alone one who cannot see the keys. And Tsujii definitely did not shy away from virtuosic repertoire. His performance today was phenomenal, in both technique and expression. By the conclusion of the concert, I had forgotten that he is blind.

I had forgotten, at least, until someone from a national Japanese tv station thrust a huge camera in my face and asked if they could interview me regarding the performance. The skeletal Asian woman wore puffy sleeves and Scooby Doo's Velma-style glasses and asked me questions about the performance. Of course I was the stupid American who said "fabulous" and "inspirational" about 11 times.... but Tsujii truly was just that :)

"Miracle is the only word to describe him. This is truly the act of God." -Van Cliburn, of Tsujii
listen here

food.coloring & vinegar.

you bring color to my life.

(2am egg dyeing with friends)

forever.

Forever -- is composed of Nows --


Emily Dickinson (1830-1886)
(read the rest here)

le.petit.monstre

the little monster.
i do actually listen in church. this helps me focus.

le.petit.oiseau.

"Little bird, little bird, little bird, what do you hear?
What do you hear?
The clink of morning cheers
Orange juice concentrate
Crossword puzzles start to grade
One across
Four letter word, it's just not sitting"

(Imogen Heap, English singer and songwriter, b. 1977)
listen here

captivated.

vintage is divine
---

(drew barrymore, Grey Gardens premiere)

les girafes sont oranges et brunes?

Here's an interesting site on which someone is attempting to collect one million created giraffes, simply to prove his friend Jørgen wrong, or something like that. It's fun to browse the artwork and see creativity from all over the world.

The girls that I nanny adored the entire concept, so they quickly created an entire herd of giraffes. It was a charming project to enjoy on a grey, rainy day. Too cute!


Julia, age 10
---

Kate, age 6 (with a little help :)
---

saddest poem (?)

I can write the saddest poem of all tonight.

Write, for instance: "The night is full of stars,
and the stars, blue, shiver in the distance."

The night wind whirls in the sky and sings.

I can write the saddest poem of all tonight.
I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too.

On nights like this, I held her in my arms.
I kissed her so many times under the infinite sky.

She loved me, sometimes I loved her.
How could I not have loved her large, still eyes?

I can write the saddest poem of all tonight.
To think I don't have her. To feel that I've lost her.

To hear the immense night, more immense without her.
And the poem falls to the soul as dew to grass.

What does it matter that my love couldn't keep her.
The night is full of stars and she is not with me.

That's all. Far away, someone sings. Far away.
My soul is lost without her.

As if to bring her near, my eyes search for her.
My heart searches for her and she is not with me.

The same night that whitens the same trees.
We, we who were, we are the same no longer.

I no longer love her, true, but how much I loved her.
My voice searched the wind to touch her ear.

Someone else's. She will be someone else's. As she once
belonged to my kisses.
Her voice, her light body. Her infinite eyes.

I no longer love her, true, but perhaps I love her.
Love is so short and oblivion so long.

Because on nights like this I held her in my arms,
my soul is lost without her.

Although this may be the last pain she causes me,
and this may be the last poem I write for her.

Pablo Neruda
(Chilean poet, 1904-1973)

Qu'est.ce.que.c'est?

unexpected order.

Perhaps this is odd...

Today I was struck by the discovery of water droplets on the counter, arranged in a near-perfect pattern.
The water fell through the holes of an airbake pizza pan.
Dotted swiss on the countertop, how quaint.

too much caffeine & swirly stuff.

On the back of a Starbuck's receipt.

If I kept all of my receipts from that place, I could likely wallpaper a room in just a short time. This must be a bad thing.

the edge of nothing.

This is my dream,
It is my own dream,
I dreamt it.
I dreamt that my hair was kempt.
Then I dreamt that my true love unkempt it.

I love Ogden Nash.

(American humorist and poet, 1902-1971)

the secret is out...

Recently I memorized this poem by W.H. Auden. Originally I was going to post only the text, but the three paintings do add to the meaning... and I simply cannot compete with Tom O'Bedlam's voice. I hope my voice sounds like that when I'm old.

whoa.

it's been about 3 months since i last posted.
so i contemplated deleting everything
and starting fresh.
life needs that sometimes.

however
life is also messy and disorganized. this blog is a small glimpse of my life, so i'm leaving everything. in following this messy//raw trend, i'll probably post more process work than finished pieces. i can't seem to finish much lately anyway.


to close -- a napkin sketch i recently rediscovered
(sketches by me, text added by J.)

fine.here.

stay.really.

I am not yours, not lost in you,
Not lost, although I long to be
Lost as a candle lit at noon,
Lost as a snowflake in the sea.

You love me, and I find you still
A spirit beautiful and bright,
Yet I am I, who long to be
Lost as a light is lost in light.

Oh plunge me deep in love, put out
My senses, leave me deaf and blind,
Swept by the tempest of your love,
A taper in a rushing wind.

Sara Teasdale, American Lyrical Poet (1884-1933)

oh.myheart.

More Beethoven, if you'd like -- two sonatas I've enjoyed sightreading (maybe not quite at tempo...)

Sonata No. 27, Op. 90,
I. Mit Lebhaftigkeit und durchaus mit Empfindung und Ausdruck (With liveliness and with feeling and expression throughout)

Sonata No. 32, Op. 111,
I. Maestoso

sigh.

I am free of love as a bird flying south in the autumn,
Swift and intent, asking no joy from another,
Glad to forget all of the passion of April
Ere it was love-free.

I am free of love, and I listen to music lightly,
But if he returned, if he should look at me deeply,
I should awake, I should awake and remember
I am my lover’s.

Sara Teasdale, American Lyrical Poet (1884-1933)

just.goaway.

This set is an updated continuation of seventy.eight-.nine.