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the old house

November 11, 2015

I forgot what art for art’s own sake felt like. Art as it lives and breathes in all its phases of incompleteness, nothing much to look at for most of the process. I miss existing in a total city of that. Before marketable bankable came the norm with all its gloss and price tag. 

I miss when walking into a building meant feasting your eyes on the jumble of personality that means that someone or several someones have been there for lo this long time, painting in the layers of the time that they have been here.

The soft edged imperfection of a piece of work in progress; a sort of community collaboration you can’t find in prefab trending funk.

a sneak pink

November 8, 2015

I finally got myself a dinglehopper for my lengthening hairs:

  
It is really actually laugh out loud funny that I can’t brush my hair unless I flip it upside down, even though it’s still way too short for that. Ancient muscle memory dies hard apparently.