Futility Now

So far I’ve been spending my summer in the studio (which keeps getting referred to as “the dungeon,” since it is in the basement — I don’t like the connotations of that reference, though, so I’m thinking about giving “the underworld” a shot) rather than on impressive home improvement projects. I did break down and get some decent curtains for the living room this week, though they currently hang unhemmed, bottom 18″ pooling dramatically on the floor. Yoshi thinks this is a brilliant idea.

The yard, however, would brook no such negligence.  A very wet spring (yes, even for Portland) meant we’d avoided being outside much at all, but once the heat & sun did arrive, our plants seemed to think it might be their only chance to grow — ever.  So they did.  Luckily, “the mum” (as jmags calls her) came up for a visit and provided the guidance and confidence we needed to really tear some things out. As you can see.

All this brute labor convinced us we deserved some sitting-around-in-bars time. When I managed to look away from this suave fella I found some captivating color palettes.

tomato red, pale warmish grey, milky chartreuse, black

goldenrod, slate grey, caramel brown, more tomato red

caramel smoky brown, shadowed orange, black and brick

And I’ve been holding on to colors from an image that I couldn’t catch on film because I happened to be driving when I saw it: stormy slate grey (sky), emerald green (painted side of brick building), ivory and black (striped power cable overhead crossing them both).  I wonder if I’m being drawn to color groups just because of the really marvelous light we’ve had in Portland lately, or if it’s because my own work is so achromatic that I’m working with a vitamin deficiency?

As you know, Luc Besson is a talentless hack. He did, however, make one really fun movie, and it looks like he might be putting out a second.

Take note, film makers, any movie whose trailer kicks off with a Tintin reference is pretty much guaranteed to take in some of my hard-earned Yankee dollars.

Some of you may remember that when living in Brooklyn I took a rather dim view of anti-hipster backlash, because the obvious alternatives were much, much worse. Furthermore, as the comic that kicks that post off demonstrates, sometimes hipsters do things that are actually pretty cool.

So a cool thing that some hipsters did last weekend (and will be doing again next weekend, if you live here in town) was perform the Star Trek classic “Amok Time” in a park in Northeast Portland. I went with some degree of incredulity, but left totally floored. I looked around around for web presence, but they don’t seem to have any, and all the press is too busy pretending not to be nerds to convey how great it is. Instead, here are a couple of clips from my tiny camera that will hopefully give you some inkling of the greatness.

The nice thing about wheel throwing vs. hand building is that you can make charming functional objects with speed and (some degree of) elegance.  Unless you become obsessed with making teeny necks for all of your vessels, rendering them pretty useless.  That seems to be my plan.  They’re a spirited lot, I can say as much.

“It looks so nice outside,” they said.  “Let’s go play.”

“Oh, that’s so much better, ya.”

Spring is not so very promising as it is the thing
that looking back was fire, promising:
ignition, aspiration; it was not under my thumb.  --Rachel Zucker, from "Diary [Surface]"

Spring in Portland is a thing to behold.  Some days the changes in sky come by the minute, certainly too quick to attune one’s mood to (unless your mood is equally changeable, I guess, in which case you should really consider migrating here).  Before everyone had their personal soundtracks white-budding in their ears as they wandered through the city, we had to rely on things like the sky to invest our otherwise mundane moments with scope and gravitas.  That, at least, is what I was mulling over while I sat in The Half and Half, enjoying a piece of pie and coffee with cinnamon & (obviously) half and half.

Spring break started off strongly — Ch., a friend of jmags & co., came for a second visit, this one filled with drizzly walks, roller skating (more, I know), and speed scrabble. Last Sunday, after Ch. — possibly the most accommodating house guest ever — slipped out quietly to head back to NYC, I found myself in the most inexplicably cranky mood.  Although we’d planned to stay in for the day, jmags suggested we go out and about, and it ended up being just the thing.

Well, I should back up.  “Inexplicably” is not quite right — I can pin it down, a little, to a phenomenon I’ve experienced at the beginning of open stretches of time, like the beginning of Summer Break last year: I get so excited by the many possible way I might spend my time that I end up paralyzed and manic.  It’s so dumb.  And, in my defense, after that first day, I have been both productive and fairly relaxed.

But back to last Sunday: books always help, and jmags knows this, so we went to Powell’s.  I selected another Murakami & a replacement copy of Rebecca, one of the first grown-up books I read — I think I was about 9 or 10.  But! I also picked up several books about clay, the best of which you can see taking up precious real estate on the table next to the pie.  (I would also like to take this moment to note that my hands continue to  be my most photogenic part.)  These books have been enchanting and inspiring me all week, both at home and at the studio, where I’ve been working on my throwing skills.  I’ll have photos quite soon.

And that brings us to Polaroids.  Although jmags and I were gifted a cache of the precious film, we’ve been tentative in using it.  But the sometimes-bright skies of spring were an inspiration, and look at the progress we’ve made on the wall:

On Monday I start a yoga class (the first one for me… we’ll see).  I feel like I’m entering a period of productivity, both physical and creative (and, I hope, professional), and the accompanying exhiliration is a nice place to be at the end of this break.  I’ve always felt my time of year was fall, not spring, but evidence suggests otherwise.  Promising.

(disclosure: jmags took the top two photos — that’s why they look so nice)