I’m working in downtown D.C. again, and I love wandering the streets of the city and exploring.
I came across this building a few months ago, an old holdout almost swallowed up by the new high rise building engulfing it.
I wonder what its story is.
Was this building so loved that the owner couldn’t bear to sell it? How did it come to pass that a whole block of old buildings disappeared except for this one?
The juxtaposition of new on top of old isn’t new, I know. There are examples of it all over the city.
But I like this little holdout building. It seems willful and stubborn. It looks up at its bullying neighbor through squinted eyes, defiantly ignoring the invasion of its personal space. It has the tenacity to continue to exist when the flat expanse of glass and concrete surrounding it so clearly says that it shouldn’t.
Hey, it’s a new post! You know what that means, right? Yep, I’m out of school on break right now and actually have time to do something other than frantically work on my latest grad school project.
And speaking of my latest grad school project, these are the two videos I put together (along with my groupmates Esther Imende, Stephen Weigand and Adam Behsudi) on our topic: bike commuting.
This video is a look at two bike commuters and why they decided to use a bike to get to and from work:
There are also other videos, data and graph elements and text stories available on our full project page.
OK, that’s all for now. But I still have another week or so before I go back to class, so I should be able to update again before I take a deep breath and dive back into grad school.
My leather-covered journal at the start of its life.
I’ve always been fascinated by journals and diaries. I wrote often in journals during my childhood and adolescence, but I stopped writing in a physical journal for a long time during my adulthood, preferring the ease of typing my thoughts on a computer with a keyboard.
But even after I went digital, I always loved browsing through the shelves of journals at bookstores. There’s just something fantastic about all those blank pages bound between the covers. They’re the essence of a story waiting to be told. What choices are you going to make in life? Where are you going to go? Who will you meet there? Looking at a blank journal is like imagining all the possible adventures that could fill a lifetime.
So even though I still like the ease and quickness of composing text with a keyboard, I bought a Moleskine journal earlier this year with the intention of getting back into keeping a handwritten journal.
I also found a beautiful leather cover for it on Etsy.com. I like the idea that even though a journal will eventually be full and stored away on a shelf or in a box, the cover will remain constant. This journal cover could travel with me for decades, accumulating all of life’s inevitable bumps and scratches on its well-worn leather the same way I’ll acquire crow’s feet around my eyes and grey in my hair.
I’ve discovered over the last few months that writing by hand is a completely different way of writing. My usual style of writing is to type a raw thought and rework it endlessly until it says what I want it to say. But the journal forces me to slow down. I can’t write fast enough to keep up with my thoughts, so I think more about what I want to write before I pick up a pen. It requires patience in a way that writing on the computer doesn’t.
Writing in a handwritten journal is a deliberate act. My fingers don’t fly across the keyboard to string together words. There is no backspace key to conveniently erase the awkward phrase I’ve just written and replace it with something more succinct or clever. My journal is a record of all my faults and mistakes (not to mention my bad handwriting).
It forces me to be more forgiving of myself. I’ll look back at things I’ve written and want to edit and revise to make them better. But I can’t. It’s already written down in pen — there’s no taking it back. And so all I can do is accept it as it is and let it go. Everything doesn’t have to be perfect.
It’s a good lesson.
I’m going to try to keep it up. What about you — does anyone else have a handwritten journal?
I usually find shopping exhausting, but there’s a special kind of tiredness associated with searching the stores for a dress to wear to a wedding.
My criteria:
It has to be slightly nicer than what I would wear to a non-casual office, but also not too businessy or bridesmaidy looking. I don’t want black or white or a really bright color. But it should be a color that will match a pair of shoes I already own, so I don’t have to buy new shoes. It needs to fit me well and flatter me, but it can’t be too revealing (trampy) or unrevealing (dowdy). It should look classy and modern, but still have somewhat traditional lines because I just don’t get all the crazy fashion forward stuff Carrie wears on ‘Sex and the City.’
Really, is all this too much to ask?
Also — and I’m going to date myself here — I’m having a hard time switching to bare legs under a dress after decades of wearing pantyhose. I know that pantyhose has been “out” for a long time now, and I’ve sort of sidestepped the whole issue for the last few years by simply not wearing skirts. I generally prefer pants to skirts, anyway, but I haven’t quite made the leap to wearing some kind of elegant pantsuit to a wedding. Some women do it, and they look great, but I just don’t feel like I’m an elegant pantsuit kind of person. Plus, the wedding is in Vermont in October, so it seems like bare legs under a dress would just be downright cold.
So now I’m thinking maybe boots would be a good solution to avoid the bare legs issue, but then not all dresses are going to look good with knee-high boots. Aaaaaand now I have to back to the second paragraph to add more items to my perfect dress criteria.
I think I’m going to blame ‘Project Runway’ for this exhausting search for the perfect outfit. I keep imagining what Tim Gunn would say as I try on dress after dress. So far, he hasn’t said much that’s nice.
I probably tried on about 20 dresses tonight. I bought the two best ones to bring them home and think them over, but I’m not convinced that I’m keeping either of them.
My inner Tim is not yet happy, but I’ve still got three weeks to figure it out. Three. exhausting. weeks.
It eventually found its heavy-heartedness too much to bear, carrying the weight of the world on its shoulders to protect the hopeful ideals of the young ones around it.
Giant egg sculpture at the American Visionary Art Museum
Are you interested in seeing a colossal model of the famous steamship the Lusitania created by hand out of thousands of matchsticks? How about a giant outdoor egg covered in patterns of mirrored glass reminiscent of Vincent van Gogh’s painting ‘Starry Night?’ Or maybe some miniature sculptures carved out of the lead on tips of pencils (which, by the way, can only be seen clearly with the aid of some magnifying glasses helpfully hanging on the wall nearby)?
If this quirkiness sounds appealing, you should head over to the American Visionary Art Museum in Baltimore, Md., where these and many other odd and whimsical pieces are laid out in room after room, overwhelming the senses.
What is visionary art? The museum defines it as “art produced by self-taught individuals, usually without formal training, whose works arise from an innate personal vision that revels foremost in the creative act itself.”
This museum’s appeal is in the unexpected. Around every corner is a display unlike anything seen at a more traditional museum. It has the feel of a traveling curiosity roadside show, with so many artful oddities filling each room that it’s sometimes difficult to force your eye to examine them individually.
The museum does a great job displaying this art, but the real magic lies in the stories about the people who created the pieces.
It’s one thing to see a wood carving of a haunting, elongated human figure with a sunken chest. It’s quite another to read its display card and find out that it is a self portrait created by a mental patient with a chest deformed by tuberculosis. He had never shown an interest in art until he found a tree trunk while walking on the institution grounds and persuaded the staff to help him move it so he could work on it. He took his own life a few years later. It was the only piece he ever created.
Stories like this add another dimension to these works and make them all the more meaningful.
The art in this museum is special and different because it’s produced by ordinary people who are driven to create extraordinary things. These artists and their stories show us that the capability of creating art is within all of us, regardless of our background or training. It’s part of our humanity, and it’s just waiting for us to reach into ourselves to find and express it.
If you haven’t seen it yet, the American Visionary Art Museum is well worth a visit. Or if you’ve already been, leave a comment about what you thought of it.
Those of you who follow my tweets and Facebook status updates know that I’ve been working on a blacksmithing video documentary for a class in my grad school program.
I’m happy to say that Part 1 of the documentary is finally complete:
Part 2 should be finished within the next couple of weeks, and I’ll post it here when it’s done.
It was a great experience to be able to work with everyone at the Blacksmiths’ Guild of the Potomac. I was warmly welcomed into their community, and I feel honored that I was able to get to know them and tell the rest of the world what a fantastic group of people they are.
I remember the old metal percolator that my Mom used to make coffee when I was a kid, before the days of the automatic coffee machine. I liked to watch the coffee bounce up into the hollow glass knob on the lid when it was hot and, well, percolating.
But tonight I’m remembering a different use of the word percolate. A guest speaker at one of my journalism classes talked to the class about her feeling that stories sometimes have to “percolate” a certain amount of time before they’re ready to show to other people.
I’ve been working on putting together a short video documentary today, and the project doesn’t feel quite right yet. I think it’s close, but I’m still waiting for that magic “Yes!” moment, when I know I’ve said what I want to say in the best way possible. So I’ve decided a little percolation is in order.
One of the definitions of percolate is: “to show activity, movement, or life; grow or spread gradually; germinate.” The optimism of the word strikes a chord in me. It’s so hopeful in its efforts to grow into something.
I’m going to put this project away tonight and let it sit in the back of my head for a little while. I think with a little more time and thought, it will germinate into something worthwhile.
An empty blog is like a fresh, clean piece of paper. It’s so pristine in its newness that I have a difficult time writing on it. What can I write that won’t detract from its state of unspoiled perfection?
There, I’ve messed it up a bit. It will be easier to write now. Get ready.
It eventually found its heavy-heartedness too much to bear, carrying the weight of the world on its shoulders to protect the hopeful ideals of the young ones around it.