So, I’m in love. Like stupid love. The kind where I’m eyeing a $600 photograph online, thinking, “We can afford it. Art is an investment! We’ll have it for life.” Meanwhile, I won’t even book a dentist appointment. (The potential financial ramifications of a dental check-up? Horrifying.) But this artist—ah! I discovered her artwork after receiving the latest copy of Black Warrior Review in the mail. I adore the humor in her work, the bold use of color, the joy (and sometimes peaceful loneliness) of the images. I . . . I . . . ::drooling, possibly slipping into a pretentious coma:: I’m obsessed. For a good time, go check out her website and IG page HERE.
The Celine Ready-to-Wear Fall 2019 Collection
Stop with this early 80s Working Girl streetwear goodness. I can’t take it. It’s weirdly in line with how I feel about femininity at the moment, which is basically, “Fuck it. No makeup. No purse. I’m changing my name to Theo and wearing a hallway rug as a stole.” Fantastic collection. Also, aviator sunglasses? Yes. Yes, I will be revisiting that timeless trend this fall, yes.
This new obsession surprised me; in all my years of art-lovin’, I never hopped into bed with sculpture. The form never spoke to me. But these pieces sure do.
Falling In Love with Cinema Again
Films have always been (and will always be) my first love. Books, music, art—these mediums didn’t take root in my foundation the same way film and acting did. Nowadays, watching movies is the closest I get to feeling like the “real” me, version 1.0, the little girl who used to pretend her sister’s hairspray bottle was an Oscar, delivering her best attempt at an acceptance speech to a row of stuffed animals lined up on a bed. I’ve watched (and rewatched) some terrific films over the last few months, reminding me that if I don’t revisit my roots every once in a while, I can’t expect to be fruitful in the pursuit of writing, or making any kind of art for that matter. There are so many movies I want to see right now—Jojo Rabbit, The Lighthouse, Parasite, The Peanut Butter Falcon, and a running list of forgotten loves. I can’t wait to jump back into my oldest and most favorite obsession: film.
Less Social Media
“Get. Off. Twitter.” I tell myself this every week and every week I think, “B-but what about the literary community? They’re all on Twitter.” I don’t know why I fall for this logic. Twitter has me believing that the majority of the English-speaking world is made up of angry, humorless, self-serving people who would sooner slice their thumbs than give any person or story the benefit-of-the-doubt. But apparently, I’m no better because I can’t seem to find the strength to jump ship. I’m going to try to shift my attention to books this fall, reading all the novels I bought earlier this year and failed to read, hoping my attempt to escape into a fictional universe will replace my daily need to escape into a digital one.
Silence. Long coats. Succession. Appreciating good weather. Jia Tolentino. Earplugs. Comma usage. Hugs.