Futility Now

Pictures from the window of a friend’s place in North Portland.

So last weekend we escaped to some friends’ country estate.

Hazel preparing for departure:

The digs:

(As you can see, we invited our esteemed colleague, Mr. Pillow.)

The view:

We mostly just schlubbed around the house, which is good because the outdoors are packed with incredibly frightening spiders.

Once we were done screaming, we noticed that the spider’s shed was kind of pretty in its own rustic way.

Last weekend we went early-birthday shopping, and Hazel bought me a record player from the nice if poorly-named Fred’s Sound of Music.

It’s all archaic and German, meaning that it’s heavy and sounds great. The first things I played on it was this:

which I have been carting around with me un-listened to for years. The story behind this is that I received the record at a goodbye party for myself at the end of 2004 (if I recall correctly), and hadn’t been near equipment I judged up to the task since. I think it was worth the wait.

Speaking of early birthday presents, I got a camera in the mail this morning (from the mum.) I’ve been sort of bemoaning the lack of precision in my current camera for ages, meaning I’m really, really excited about this. So naturally the first thing I did when it arrived was break out the old camera and take a picture of it all zoomed in because it sort of looks like a dick.

Artist at work, folks, artist at work.

But once that was done I got back into being intrigued by everyday objects seen through the lens, which is something I always find rewarding.

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)

I think that any right-thinking person can see clearly that the aura of sleaze and degradation that a Polaroid can add to almost any image is truly beautiful. In order to make the most of this, we have decided to create a Polaroid wall, which we will populate with specimens that we (in our totally unbiased opinions, of course) find particularly charming.

Speaking of particularly charming, the backing for this is covered in Tyvek, arguably the world’s most perfect substance.

Our plan is to keep adding images until the whole thing is full, at which point new images will have to be weighed against the existing ones and found superior in order to gain a place. If the cost of Polaroid film doesn’t bankrupt us, we’ll keep you posted.

UPDATE: Replaced the obvious pop-song reference with a totally obtuse one.