JP's Camera

Jean-Paul is now a photographer.  His work reflects certain spatial elements. A sense of the home and the home's parameters pervade his pictures.  JP is interested in an animalian perspective, in how being less than a foot off the ground can truly change the way the one sees things.  

Ceremony

After my last day of work at the cafe I drove to the Pawnee grasslands to see the fusillade of color from the prickly pears, the cowboys delight, and the evening primrose. I am a believer of ceremony. Even though the meaning of each ritual can change over time, it is useful to commemorate the mini-evolutions of our lives.

Color

"The purest and most thoughtful minds are those which love color the most."  John Ruskin

Ault 2009

Once one flew, they all flew away.  The violence of their wings flapping against their bodies was the sound of blitzkrieg.  I retreated to the safety of the car where their winged operation could not keep me hostage.  I was not ready to fly. 

The Andrew Sisters

My grandmother met my grandfather in the small cafe she was working at in Nebraska.  As legend goes, he walked in the door and she told her co-worker "I'm going to marry that man".

I wonder what music was playing when she first saw him?  

Bei Mir Bist Du Schon, Rum and Coca Cola, Beer Barrel Polka

What We Wear

"Fashion is not something that exists in dresses only.  Fashion is in the sky, in the street, fashion has to do with ideas, the way we live, what is happening."  Coco Chanel

Limbo

I could imagine a spring elsewhere: berlandier's trumpets, lazy daisies, red spiderlings, and texas sedge.  I could be outside in a cold pool of water drinking tecatas unself-consciously because no one knows who I am.  

Even still, this proverbial spring charms me with its history.  I know which streets to turn down to see the willows' dominion over the sidewalk, and I know which neighbors will have the best perennial parade. 

Conciergerie

She slept in her mourning gown, black and tattered. She was not allowed scissors, needle, or string, so she collected fibers from the threadbare ceiling's tapestry. Using only toothpicks, she knit her son a pair of garters with these scraps.

Brompton Cemetery

Elsie's cat died nine years ago. Thomas, Elsie's neighbor who works at a bakery, gives Elsie the heels of bread left over from the slicer. They do not talk much; in fact, Thomas believes that Elsie does not know his first name.