commonheart

[commonheart]

The way the night knows itself with the moon, Be that way with me + “In the Arc of your Mallet” —Philip Glass/Rumi https://www.instagram.com/p/Bqq590KlfPl/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=zyejah1h32m1

[commonheart]

Storm King in full splendor. (at Storm King Art Center) https://www.instagram.com/p/BpvPvc_FrHK/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=110qehke58ylx

[commonheart]

The artist gave detailed instructions for her work to be shown 20 years after her death, in a time she hoped would be more appreciative of abstraction. She envisioned the work displayed in a spiraling temple. Tonight it filled the rotunda of the Guggenheim, which didn’t open until 15 years after her death. May we all have the confidence of Hilma af Klint. @joannalynnwarren @juliaillustrates @alibethswen (at Solomon R. Guggenheim Museum) https://www.instagram.com/p/Bo28NOAh_WR/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=gyi7f3d6eqke

[commonheart]

My first visit to The Morgan Library. ❤️ (at The Morgan Library & Museum) https://www.instagram.com/p/BpKd5q1hkny/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=1byyag3vjhgrg

[commonheart]

It would be easier to borrow someone else’s poem to accompany these rainy day portraits, but I’ve recently fallen in love (again) with my old work. I don’t know when or why it happened, but poetry left me. I hope one day it returns. In the meantime, here’s an old love poem. I feel lucky to have been given a poem that has been gracious enough to evolve with me and take on new meaning years after it was written. Or maybe it was always bigger than me, and I’m the one that’s finally catching up. Hungry Hollow I wonder what would happen if I put my hand on your chest, on the spot where I know all the electricity in the world comes to rest. The stretch of muscle and skin just above the cold cage of ribs that hold back the rapid fire of the Tommy gun that is your heart. Having seen all there is, and all that will be, I imagine Time would stand, fold his newspaper, and take a cigarette break. Knowing that what happens next is outside his jurisdiction. He was never one for the oddsmakers anyway, and as this was Fate's game at last, he could finally lay a bet on me. My old friend, not caring if he loses; a sucker for those who wait. Then all this sleeping love that's gathered in the darkened corners of the wild lands in my soul would push itself up to see you. If I could just get my hand there. If I could just stretch out my fingers, across your skin, Time would have his cigarette, and I would have my one chance to tell you that, I have loved you like the the silence loves the sound that keeps it quiet. I have loved you like the hollow loves the hills that make it poor, that I want you without needing or expecting you will have me, like the body when it's broken, no longer prays that there's a cure. I am hungry, always hungry, but not wanting anymore.

[commonheart]

The COLORS. 😍 @nycballet @johananvictor (at David H Koch Theater at Lincoln Center)

[commonheart]

Dear Duncan...I love these books so much. Happy Birthday Caffery Monteleone! May you travel the world like Neon Red, make peace with your rivals like Yellow and Orange, and when life gives you Pea Green decide that you are Esteban the Magnificent instead. @kmontleon @frism #thedaythecrayonsquit

[commonheart]

My favorite professor in college was a man named Herbert Beerman. He taught Light, Color, and Design for six hours my sophomore year, and in the midst of his lectures, would let you know which of the 37 cats on campus was likeliest to pee on you or your work. He was a World War II veteran, a pilot, and a student of Josef Albers, whom he studied under at Yale. I mention it, because I saw the Albers in Mexico exhibition at the Guggenheim tonight and it brought me back to his classroom. - In Beerman’s class, if you did everything right, you got a B. It was a philosophy I equally loved and loathed, because color is a science of relationships. I desperately wanted what he had, what Albers had, the ability to play color like a pianist plays Claire de Lune. - I was lucky to have him for just one of the 50 years he taught at Pratt Institute. He still is the best teacher I’ve ever had. I have been avoiding googling him for years now because I knew he must have passed, and only tonight read his obituary. I don’t have a picture of him, so Frank Loyd Wright will have to do. 🍂✈️🍂

[commonheart]

This week, a dear friend referred me to this Ask Polly article. I’ve butchered and paraphrased some of the highlights here, but I highly recommend the full read. It was written to a woman at war with herself, 8 years after her divorce. I hope it inspires you, as it did me, 🐙 to embrace reality, welcome the ugliness, and rewrite the script. #teamursula

[commonheart]

No matter how many times they move you, Sal, I’ll always find you. | On the coldest, most crowded day at the Met, I found new and old things to fall in love with. A quick-to-laugh group of nuns in line for the Michelangelo exhibit, Mike’s monster imagination, the Sistine Chapel replica (not pictured) in which, if you look closely, you’ll find Jesus, the only figure on the entire ceiling that looks at the viewer, the first Where’s Waldo. Even with a cheesy replica, and a bunch of people taking selfies, it felt like a divine creative wink..... I’ve started paying more attention the the dates the artists were born and died, to see how old they were when they created the work. One painter debuted with success at the Paris Salon at the age of 16, but only lived to be 26 💔. Also loved a Van Gogh that I hadn’t noticed before, created at the very end of his life. The commentary from historians essentially read, “We don’t know what he was doing here, it’s very unlike him.” Keep them guessing Vincent.... MoMA followed the frozen chaos at the Met and I was grateful to have a friend get me in the back way so I could forever covet Cy Twombly and de Kooning (not pictured). I think the things I love most I forget to photograph, Salome, aside. ✨ @torresdeforce @joannalynnwarren (at The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York)

[commonheart]

Maybe you guys knew this but— wandering the streets of Chinatown with friends on Christmas night is magic.

[commonheart]

City mouse. Country mouse.

[commonheart]

First snow on the Hudson Line reminds me of the first train trip I took up to the studio, before it even had heat. Also Murder on the Orient Express🕵🏻‍♂️.

[commonheart]

I’m going to be letting go of my studio in 2018. Which means, I have to find homes for a few pieces. The painting featured in this post has been my companion for a few years now, and I’m strangely glad she never sold. Art names us, says Madeleine L’ Engle. When Adam was asked by God to name all the animals, he was being asked to help in the creation of their wholeness. When we name each other, we share in that joy and privilege. I named this painting Lux because I once dreamed I’d have a daughter of the same name. As I was painting it, I suppose I was reaching into her future and pulling colors and ideas down from one of God’s bookshelves, like Matthew McConaughey tapping Morse code in the dust to his daughter in the movie Interstellar. I don’t know if I’ll have a daughter. I don’t know what her name will be. But I do know that this painting is her portrait. After it didn’t make the cut for the holiday card at work this year, I decided to use it for my own devices, and had only planned to post it as my wish for us all this season. But as usual, the story knew more than me. It isn’t until now that I see the the irony... Lux means light.

[commonheart]

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New favorite band. Appropriate song. #creepin @the_red_clay_strays (at Fairhope Film Festival)

[commonheart]

When I was a kid, she was my inspiration. Not much has changed. She was ahead of her time as much as she was an icon of it. Her songs about domestic abuse, racism, and social justice feel even more relevant now. But also a sad reminder that these issues have endured for too long. If there was a 50 over 50 list, she would be at the top for me. #styleicon #liberator #thejbeforebey #stateoftheworldtour #alsoapostshowselfiebecauseapparentlyimexhaustedandcantworkinstagramanymore

[commonheart]

Why do men’s magazines always have better writing. 🧐🤨