Toyo Miyatake, Self-Portrait (1932)

Toyo Miyatake's "Self-Portrait" from 1932 makes a showing at the Whitney's first show at its new building in SoHo.

Toyo Miyatake, Self-Portrait (1932)

Miyatake's self-portrait is currently on display at the Whitney Museum's new SoHo building on Gansevoort Street.

The museum's first exhibition in its new building serves up a grand survey of American art.

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On Not Being Right in the World

One of the Damned from Michelangelo's fresco "The Last Judgment."

Advice for When You Do Not Feel on Par with Existence:
While we value people who have come through significant challenges, the prevailing opinion among many is that those who are struggling just have not tried hard enough.

However, there is value in not being right in the world.

It does not mean you are not trying to succeed.

Who is Measuring and Why Does it Matter?
Often we are measured by criteria that even those who are setting the criteria don't fully understand.

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Image Source: Michelangelo Buonarotti, "The Last Judgment" 1537-1541, The Sistine Chapel, Vatican City

Advice on Priorities from François Truffaut's 1973 Classic Film "Day for Night"

François Truffaut's film Day for Night

Transcript of the Scene (for context)

Julie: Liliane ran off with the stuntman. 

Joëlle: Does Alphonse know?  

Julie: I had to tell him. 

Joëlle: With the stuntman? I'd drop a guy for a film. I'd never drop a film for a guy!

While the quote is not an advertisement for self-imposed celibacy, it is a funny take on priorities. I interpret this quote as choosing art over carnal pleasure. Also, Joëlle's comment, "I'd drop a guy for a film. I'd never drop a film for a guy!" is an accurate barometer of Truffaut's feelings - and passion for - filmmaking. 

Have I ever ditched a guy to go to a movie instead? In New York, where there are dozens of select film screenings of the world's best cinema - yes - I have chosen movies over men. 

Have you ever ditched a guy (or a girl) so you could pursue your love of movies (or anything resembling art and artmaking)? Let me know in the comments.
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Image Source: François Truffaut's La nuit américaine (Day for Night) © 1973

Social Determinism Study Explains South Louisiana Children's Future Income

My Hometown is Not the Best Place to Grow up for Upward Mobility

St. Tammany Parish borders Lake
 Pontchartrain north of New Orleans

Raj Chetty and Nathaniel Hendren are interested in whether or not where you grow up determines how much money you will make as an adult. According to their data, released by the Equality of Opportunity Project, Saint Tammany Parish, Louisiana (where I spent at least ten years of my childhood) is one of the worst counties* in the U.S. in helping poor children rise up the income ladder.

I found this out after reading an article the New York Times published: The Best and Worst Places To Grow Up: How Your Area Compares.

The Best and Worst Places to Live for Income Mobility in the New Orleans Area

The Times crunched the numbers and compared every county in the United States. It turns out, Saint Tammany Parish ranks "425th out of 2,478 counties, better than only about 17 percent of counties. It is relatively worse for poor boys than it is for poor girls."

Saint Tammany Parish is very bad for children in average-income families. It is better than only about 8 percent of counties."

And for the top one percent living in Saint Tammany? Saint Tammany Parish is also "very bad for children in families in the top 1%. It is better than only about 7 percent of counties. It is better for rich kids to live in Saint James or Assumption Parish."

Assumptions Squashed: Where You Really Should grow up in South Louisiana

I found these findings to be surprising given the number of people who have left New Orleans and Jefferson Parish to move to more suburban parishes like Saint Tammany.

Photograph: "Somewhere in San Francisco in 2008"

San Francisco 2008 (Somewhere Along the Cable Car Line)

Taking a photograph from the San Francisco cable car, the streets look slanted. It's queer how in San Francisco you can stand up straight and still appear to be tilting sideways.

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Photographs: "My Cronkite Toes"

I call these "My Cronkite Toes" pics. About to lie flat on my back on this four-poster bed. Try as you might you cannot fit me into a round hole.

                                               About to lie flat on this four-poster bed 

                                  in the Garden District neighborhood 

                                  of New Orleans, I ponder the meaning of life.

There is foliage in the background.

 I am trying to fit myself into this recycling bin at the Union Square Whole Foods Market.

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Movie Review: Dolan's Mommy Opens Screens

Antoine-Olivier Pilon (as Steve) opens the frame in Mommy (2014) - A review of Xavier Dolan's 2014 film Mommy, a movie that explores the relationship between a troubled adolescent boy with his mother and a neighbor who becomes an unexpected ally.

There is a moment in Xavier Dolan's film, Mommy (2014), where Steve (Antoine-Olivier Pilon), a troubled teenager who has been dispatched to several group homes and is now living with his mother after he caught fire to the cafeteria and seriously injured another boy, breaks open the screen. It's an interesting moment.

Jesus Did Say "This Too Shall Pass" But He Wasn't Talking about Estimated Taxes

I stop myself. Before I even begin typing. The thoughts in my head may not be appropriate even for a stream of consciousness rant.

Ranting on the Internet, even if it is a like-I-am-in-my-therapist's-office-just-free-associating kind of rant, is rarely beneficial to humanity.

Yet. Here I am. Ranting. Here's one rant I am sure you heard: estimated taxes suck. Rewrites are a pain in the ass. Staten Island needs a rail connection to Brooklyn. It's colder than a witch's tit. Oh. Here's a good one: the rent is too goddamn high. I also wanted to rant about how I worked so hard to write a blog post for one of my freelancing gigs, only for the editor to send me back to the drawing board. Well, almost to the drawing board. She accepted most of the piece but eliminated huge chunks and asked for a rewrite. It's a lesson in humility. 

So. I did rant. But I tried to save myself by saying I am humbled now. I think folks detest rants because they're jealous. They want to rant too. But they don't. So they rant that you ranted. And it sucks. But I ranted by saying that I wasn't going to rant. It's excusable. But estimated taxes really do suck. I think if I were more attentional to minor details it would not bother me as much. It does not help that I have been a slave to a grouchy academic who needs me to ferret out sources for his upcoming book.

This too shall pass. I think Jesus said that.

I guess I should warn you that there is an ulterior motive as to why I am writing this blog post this today.

First, I have to get my mind set on writing. Tomorrow is Thursday. Work awaits. And it feels like I may never reach the end of my labors. I wonder how Virginia Woolf felt when she was struggling with a sentence?

Second, it really pains me that I have started to think more about estimated taxes than what novel I want to read.

Third, someone was correct when she said "no rest for the weary."

I put a period after the last sentence, looked up, and saw a cardinal perched on the window sill. A cardinal. I rarely see cardinals in my neighborhood. Also, the Staten Island Ferry chugs along on its determined route. And somewhere some bloke is estimating his quarterly taxes.

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Image Source:  tomcopelandblog

A Photograph of a Cat on the Farm (in Louisiana)

Cat on the Farm, © 2005

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Letter from Walker Percy to Fr. Dominic Braud, O.S.B.

American novelist Walker Percy wrote Fr. Dominic Braud a letter on March 9, 1980.

Letter from Walker Percy to Fr. Dominic Braud, O.S.B. (Stamped March 10, 2010; Handwritten)

Fr. Dominic Braud, O.S.B. was the choirmaster at Saint Joseph Abbey and Seminary College in St. Benedict, Louisiana for decades. He was a Benedictine monk and priest and he had formed a friendship with Percy after Percy had become an Oblate of Saint Benedict. In the following letter, it appears that Braud had sent Percy a copy of a poem written by William Alexander Percy that was set to music. William Alexander Percy was Walker Percy's guardian and raised Percy as if he were his own father. Click the link to retrieve a scan of the envelope, the back of the envelope, and the actual letter.

     I have transcribed the letter thus:

Walker Percy P.O. Box 510 Covington, LA 70433 March 9, 1980 Dear Father Dominic —      It was very good of you to send me the Green setting of Uncle Will's poem. No, I don't remember seeing it and so am all the more grateful for having it.      What would you say to my coming out sometime and demanding that you sing it? — Otherwise I'll never know how it sounds —        Many Thanks again, Walker

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Postcard of Multnomah Falls in Oregon (With Transcript)

A postcard depicting Multnomah Falls 

in the Columbia River Gorge, Multnomah County, Oregon, U.S. [frontside]

Birthday Letter [backside]

I don't remember where I found this postcard, but I think it was in a public library book on bats.

According to the postcard, Multnomah Falls is the second-highest waterfall in the United States (and it is located 30 miles east of Portland, Oregon on the Columbia River).

A Post to Say I Posted: "Bayou Castine, Mandeville, Louisiana"

Bayou Castine, Mandeville, Louisiana © 2015

A post to say I posted.

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On Gratitude

There is an ancient myth that the world is carried aloft on the shell of a great, cosmic turtle.

I thank the turtle that holds the world aloft.

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Credit: Spirit and Nature: Why the Environment is a Religious Issue

Chef Boyardee: Wheat Girl

An ad campaign from Chef Boyardee

A photograph of the archetypal farm girl getting intimate with her "amber waves of grain" is so totally interesting to me — even without the Chef Boyardee ad copy (that would normally be pasted over this warped gesture to Norman Rockwell).

The original ad copy reads:

Oh look, a mother's daydream. It'll never be a reality. So serve them Chef Boyardee Whole Grain Beefaroni, now with whole grain pasta. Just don't tell them.Obviously Delicious. Secretly Nutritious.

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Image Source: Zachary Scott

On a Sunday Trip Over the Verrazano Narrows Bridge

Verrazano Bridge

The Verrazano Bridge that connects Brooklyn to Staten Island celebrates fifty years this week. The bridge spans the Narrows, a strip of the waterway that divides Upper and Lower New York Bay.
It is often visible when I'm out and about walking around my neighborhood. Even though I live about fifty blocks away.

It's an impressive bridge. But too bad there ain't pedestrian walkways or a bike path. Only once a year, for the NYC marathon are its gates open for peeps.

Lately, I've had to make trips across the Narrows for work. So I get to see the bridge up close.

I feel like Travolta in Saturday Night Fever.

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Why "All Souls Day" Has a Special Place in My Heart

Poets in Limbo (1890), Gustav Doré

All Souls Day gets little attention compared with yesterday's feast of All Saints and the eve prior to All Saints popularly called Halloween.

As a secular Catholic — or whichever epithet you prefer to call me (I prefer "Cajun Queen") — there is a special place in my heart for All Souls Day.

I think All Souls Day must have a place for me.

Art Motif: "The Sitting Pose"

Homme noir nu assis recroquevillé (2007)

I think I fell in love with the nude sitting pose in art when first I saw Hypolite Flandrin's version at the Louvre.

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Image Courtesy: Camille

Reading Is Not A Career Skill: Or Is It?

Young Person Reading

I noticed that I had “reading” as a skill on my Linkedin profile. Who puts reading as a skill on Linkedin? Seriously, the last time I told a prospective employer that I liked to read I think I lost the bid for the job.

Curious about reading as a marketable job skill, I punched in "reading as a skill" in the Linkedin search engine, and I got 3,987,983 hits. Certainly, most of these hits correlate to “Reading Teacher” or “Reading Stories” and not necessarily to barebones reading.

Lots of ink has been spilled about reading. And most of it good. PSA's love talking about reading! Hey, frigging Harry Potter loves to read. And I think there is a wonderful PSA of Meryl Streep reading a book.

But I guarantee you if you walk into a workplace and see a guy reading a book I bet you a million bucks his supervisor’s going to think: “that guy’s not doing his job.”

Hell, when I was a high school English teacher, I think when I brought a book to lunch or was caught reading during my planning period, I could swear I got the suspicious eyes from my principal.

Maybe I should have been grading papers. Or, something.

I never realized reading as a skill until I started to write for money.

See. Reading is good when you’re a writer. One of my clients needed some copy on the recent Jeff Koons exhibit at the Whitney so I wrote a five hundred word blurb so he could paste it to his blog. Simple.

I think he was impressed. I guess reading the Arts section of the Times paid off.

I like to think there is a special part of my brain that I like to call the Bartlett’s Familiar Quotations catch pan of useless but fun tidbits gleaned from years of idle reading.

I swear there must be a part of my unconscious that tags quotable quotes when I am reading.

It’s weird because I’ll be writing something and an appropriate quote that matches what I’m writing triggers in my Bartlett’s Familiar Quotations catch pan. It’s uncanny.

Now, these are the days before making notes on a Kindle.

Now all my memorable quotes are memorized for me by Amazon’s cloud service.

But it takes years of reading to build this skill set.

And I am not sure it is a skill set.

Until I get paid for reading, I am thinking of deleting “reading” from my list of attributes. It’s like one of those secret skills. You tell someone you’re reading, and they look at you like you’re from the get-go critiquing their non-reading.

There’s all this garbage circulating that the Internet squashes reading and replaces it with information pawing.

Now, I have a Feedly, bookmarks, and I paw the Web just like any other troll, but I also take time to fucking read. I mean sustained reading. Like reading for more than forty-five minutes without clicking backspace.

I honestly don’t understand all these Internet cleanse people. They complain they don’t have time to read, and they are all nostalgic for those days when they curled up with a book.

Maybe it’s easy for me because I take frequent local commutes on the New York City Subway System.

Until they install wireless access — that they have been doing in the nicer Manhattan parts — I will be content with reading unmolested.

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Image Courtesy:  distinctdisciples

A Twelve Year Old Boy's Answer to Conflict

"No more fights, just books." 

— Boy, 12, New York City

Source: The Uni Project 

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A Room Of One's Own: Dispatch From My Room (As I Work From Home and Decided to Submit A Blog Entry)

A Room Of My Own (And Virginia's too!) © 2014

When I try to find beauty

At the beginning of September, the heat of Summer begins to dissipate in New York. But Summer leaves behind swabs of humidity, still clinging on as I impatiently wait for Autumn. To give context, I’ve been spending a lot of time alone. I’m an extrovert. So it’s an unusual feeling. I plan to spend September mostly alone, for my work is solitary, and it depends on me monetizing my solitude. I’ve lived in the same apartment for quite a long time, but lately, I have come to know my room. It’s probably because I spend more time in my room than I ever did before, and I will admit that is the prosaic reason. To quell my loneliness, I open my eyes, and light upon something beautiful. There are many rooms in one room. The room you wake up to in the morning, in the half-light, where the room is an exit from the dream you've just had, but can't quite remember. Or the room, as it appears when you first enter it, different from the room you sat in all day writing. For the room you share with another person, but you don't notice the room, or the opposite, where all you notice is the space filling up, but words cannot express how you feel. It’s loneliness. But you don’t say it that way because people cannot handle loneliness.