As a kid, my father told me that constantly. "Eso es Satanico" referred to Ninja Turtles, Smurfs, Garbage Pail Kids, and even Madballs. I tried to convince him that Scooby Doo wasn't 'satanico' because the monsters were actually angry old men who ran county fairs and not at all related to the devil or he-who-must-not-be-named.
Thursday, January 29, 2009
Monday, January 19, 2009
Thursday, January 08, 2009
It was a mostly quiet affair for me, since I don't really know too many people in town, but it was okay. Being alone in a roomful of people who are talking to each other can get a little grating but then I see these photos of Michael Kenna's, and I know the trip was worth it. The quietness of them-- I don't know how it made me feel. Like we live in a beautiful place, I guess. I don't know. I'm afraid I left my art critic hat in the other room. It doesn't matter. I got a little lost, I spent the better part of half an hour looking for parking, I was there alone, and traffic was a nightmare, but I felt pretty great when I saw his work on those walls.
Jennifer Harrison's work also made me feel pretty glad to be there. The paint literally jumps off the canvas, as if she were working in play-doe or cake frosting. The work is simple and repetitive, but that's beside the point. Just look at it.
One day I'll learn to express how art makes me feel, if I feel anything at all. A lot of the time I'm just happy for these artists, that their work is on display and that they're making a living from what I can only imagine to be their favorite activity in the world.
I don't know.
It should be mentioned that I am searching (and failing) for descriptive words to use in this blog whilst very comfortably using (wearing?) my slanket which the lovely Bethy bought for me. Thanks, hon.
Wednesday, January 07, 2009
Unless is a first-person narrative about a woman who has suffered a great tragedy in her life, the kind of tragedy of a tentative nature that manages to keep her mind on this tragic event throughout the entire book because beyond the sadness there's also a great deal of worry involved.
There's a lot going on here. The narrator, Reta Winters, is an author of what I can only describe as chick-lit. 'Comic fantasy' is what she and her editor call the books she writes. Reta also translates the memoirs of feminist author and Holocaust survivor Danielle Westerman, and Westerman's views carry over into a lot of the book. The reader follows along with Reta Winters while she deals with daily life, writing, friends, and family while also dealing with what else is going on, outside of her control. This makes up the bulk of the book.
I thought it was a solid, though very wordy, read. I'm glad I read it but I'm afraid my attention span made it so that some of the passages blurred into each other. It left me feeling as though there were something profound that the author was trying to impart that I must have missed. I don't feel as though that's the author's fault, though.
- ▼ 2009 (21)