My Summer of Love

A dress that makes me feel like a glass of bourbon

 
This dress, named "Café au lait," was made by an artistic team in New Orleans.
 
Wish I'd had the pleasure of wearing this earlier in the season.  I'll gladly wear it with bare legs next summer.
 
It's a dress I could picture myself reading a lot in, and handwriting letters in.
 
Sewing, drawing, kissing, hugging, taking photos, planting flowers, dirtying my knees in it, canoeing, admiring spiderwebs, etc.

(Lili, Adrienne, and my family all randomly mentioned spiders/spiderwebs this week. I have those conversations on my mind.)

I'm purposefully leaving painting off the list, because I don't want to get paint on this dress!  When you're a painter, you start out with your normal clothes and your smaller set of painting clothes.   Eventually your "painting clothes" are a bigger handful of pieces than you thought.  You get paint on you and it aint coming off.  That's one reason I've gotten into aprons.
 
The dress is pure cotton.  Pretty simple, yet bedecked with lace, crochet, a doily or two, cap sleeves, and a touch of grey.
 

 
I told the girls who created it that the dress will be cherished in a good home for many moons--
 
Unless I get soaked in a bayou, and a gator tears the delicate frock while I'm swimmin and wrestlin out of it.
 
It was saturated then faded, to a wonderful effect.  I bet their recipe was:

- dip in coffee at Café du Monde,
 
- pour on foamy steamed milk,
 
- add a drop of rose petal water to bring out a hint of pink.
 
- Drape over an iron balcony in the French Quarter,

- Tie it on the branch of a tree covered with Spanish moss
 
- Wash and dry in the sun.
 
After all the care they put into it, I've got a romantic soft dress full of character and charm.
 
I'm pretending those are the ingredients they used.  Shhh...let me dream.
 
The dress is also a little the color of
skin,
 
 
 
flushed cheeks,
sunrise,
or red clay earth.
 
There's certainly pressure at my job, maybe in "my field" as a whole, to dress as if you've gone to finishing school.  I enjoy looking like a grown-up Nancy Drew whenever I can, and I feel comfortable in a pleated kilt, Peter-Pan-collared blouse, a trench, pea coat, or any number of choices.  I wish I could manage to buy more Burberry, Paul Smith, or outfits resembling those collections, because I love that stuff.  But I like to wear clothes that are nearly the opposite plenty of times...clothing that shows you can still be a lady while you honor the part of you that's down de bayou.
 
One day I'll show you photos of me actually wearing these things out of my closet, if you'd like?  They look really pretty on their own, though.  If you need to imagine them on a person, please picture a ghost girl inside them for now. 
 
A ghost in my clothes!  Sounds like a poem I could write, or a song one of my friends could play.
 
I'm brand new to blogging.  I can't imagine modeling all of my clothes for the world wide web.  I kind of want to some day.  I fig I'll get there in due time, and I hope that suits you fine, lovely readers.
 
Do you ever feel confused by blogging because it seems too ego-centric?  I'm not entirely comfy with it for various reasons.  That's a whole worthwhile topic of its own, and I won't change this post to be about that.  I will say that I guess you find your groove in a blog eventually. 
 

I'm waxing poetic about something so small here-- a dress I own.  Maybe that's what this site's purpose is right now, stopping to smell the roses.
 
I've always looked at the world as an artist, and I like sharing those eyes with you.   It's more than swell having you along for the ride.  Please keep commenting, emailing, and sharing your take on things.  You inspire.
 

 
Currently listening to:
 
"I Wish I Was In New Orleans"
 
by Tom Waits, 1976

The true story of peacocks gone astray

 

Part of my job is working with scholars.  They'll ask me questions, I'll read lots, and give them the answers.  Other times, I'll direct them to someone I know, or to a good book, or whatever I think would be best for them.  

Occasionally, a researcher comes to see me because of an exhibit they'd seen years ago that I did.  They want to write a book or thesis and my exhibition was part of their inspiration.  That is one of my favorite things to hear.

We work together on and off for months, solving mysteries together. 

A few days ago, I heard a heartbreaking animal story from one of these authors, as we sat there with our curatorial gloves.  She works for a modern art museum...one of my favorite museums, which I won't name, but where I saw a fantastic Marisol Escobar show. 

Naturally, after working, we get to talking about things aside from the project at hand. 

At first I was excited, as she mentioned she had a story she thought I'd like to hear.  It was about a white bird with a few dappled gold feathers that she'd encountered.  She said the unexpected visitor was eating her flower and vegetable gardens, would come and go without a schedule, and had been doing so for weeks. 

A white bird?  My ears perked up.  White birds are some of my favorite things.  My brain filled with images of pale wing-ed things.  

She explained that she had no idea what species it was.  I was surprised, and I silently went through the possibilities in my head.

Let's start out simple.

- Dove?  

No, her bird sounded enormous.

- Swan? 

No, even the least bird-loving person could identify the neck of a swan, right? 

- Seagull?  

No, too commonplace.  The bird she saw was extraordinary.

I said to myself, "Come on, Heather!"

- Cockatoo? 

No, they are practically human and are attached to their owners.

- Pelican? 

No, I loved watching pelicans swim and fly in Bonaire. While I'm not an official ornithologist, I believe they prefer warm climates and bodies of water, rather than the gardens of a New Yorker.

- Egret? 

I occasionally spot one near my home. 

It's settled then...I figured that it must be an egret, or some kind of albino eagle she crossed paths with.

Well...

It was none of the above.

The update to the story- she newly discovered it was a peacock.  Which is startling, because even though they are collected, peafowl are not wild in this country.  Peacocks are native to Asia, and are the national bird of India. 

This one looks painted, but it's not.  It is real and alive.

Image source: link

If your neighbor had a peacock, you would know.

 

She asked her neighbors.  No one knew whose bird it was.  The authorities connected her with the owner, miles away in another town.  My hopes were high as she described the man coming to reunite with the lost bird.  

(I envisioned a real-life "Man In The Yellow Hat" from the Curious George books)

The scholar told me that no one had seen the bird fly before.  The owner and the bird's caretaker arrived and said:

"it couldn't-- wouldn't-- doesn't fly."   

Lo and behold, it took off when they tried to catch it.  The peacock soared to a rooftop.

They tried to sprinkle water onto the bird with a hose.  They said this would surely make it unable to fly once wet, but it flew away even further.  It vanished again.

The two men left empty-handed, and there were no further sightings.

Thereafter, the mate (who'd been left behind) ran away from home as well.

I couldn't believe it.  I wish I had seen it all and been able to help.

 

Even though I want them to be free, I'm quite worried about their survival once the snowy months arrive.

There is a romance going on...there are actually three peafowl. 

The plot kept thickening.

 

 

It is a love triangle...neither bird is in love with the bird that loves it back. 

So...first one left,

then the other,

then the other. 

These lovesick birds.  I cannot blame them for straying.  If you are being hounded by someone whom you do not want, it can be maddening.  On the other hand, if a creature feels unrequited love, it can drive the lover himself mad. 

Can there be a happy end to it?

The fact that a white peacock is out there wandering for months is unbelievable to me.  It must look like a ghost when it appears and disappears. A ghost wearing a crown and a cape.  

I'm still praying they all come home. 

Wherever you are, dear bird, I wish you well. 

May you be healthy, happy, taken care of, and in love. 

I have high hopes for you since I heard that you flew, when no one believed you could. 

  

A Snail Tale, Part 2

I received a lot of great emails and comments on the other post. Thank you, lovely readers!

As a bonus, I'm sharing these two.

The fashion shoot was done for the French design house Hermès.

 

Photographs by Tim Walker via clickable link

I set out running but I take my time

Bear in mind, this first photo was taken with an iPhone.  I went to a party where there was a snail in a garden.  I realize they eat plants, and people don't like when there are too many.  However, I rarely see them anywhere.  I know people buy them for aquariums, because they are good for that type of ecosystem, as they eat algae.  I cannot vilify them.  I placed one in my hand.  He was nestled in tight and looked like an empty shell.  Other guests told me he'd never come out.  Let me totally nerd out and say slugs are not snails; they are two different animals.  I sat calmly with him in my hand.  He felt safe with me, eventually, and curious of what this alabaster hand was like.  He slowly stuck out his feelers.  It was not at all gross, it was adorable and only lasted a few moments.  These animals look ancient to me.  They are creations of the universe, or God's creations, or whatever you believe, as much as we are.
 

 
This summer I received a magazine called Paper, by an artistic Swedish company called Acne.  It flew to me all the way from Scandinavia, a place I'm enamored of.  It arrived in tissue paper with paint splatters and drip marks.

My favorite part of the issue is Tim Walker's shoot called Slow Down.  I snapped a couple of pictures of the magazine by a thicket, abuzz with honey bees.  
 
  

Above is what I took today.  Below is the uninterrupted original version by Mr. Walker

 
It isn't a glossy publication, which made for awesome photos in today's fading sunlight.  I enjoy seeing the shadows. 

The spread shows a girl modeling for us in an attractive and sparse living space...looks as if it is kept as a meeting spot for two lovers.  They rendezvous here and knock over lamps.
 

 
There's a larger than life snail on the wall, on the bed, and under the table.  There's something sexy about the animals, and I'm not positive why, precisely. They're fascinating with their horns, hard shells, hypnotic spirals, and stickiness.  Some say they are beautiful, others say they are horrid.  What say you? 
 

 
One of the pages shows the girl raising her chin.
 
I put a real violet on the page... you get a sense of how enormous the pages are.

 

In a small way, it reminds me of a sculpture I learned about in college, called

Saint Theresa In Ecstasy. 

 

It was made in the 1600s by the artist Bernini.
 

 
The shoot has a little touch of the Baroque period.
 
Something else I could tell you is that one of Aesop's fables was called

"The Snail and the Mirror."
 
I notice the model is holding a mirror in a few of these; it's very subtle.  I'm not saying the set designers were definitely thinking of the fable.   Still I thought I'd point out the possibility.
 
You're encouraged to click on every photo, until I widen this column.  I want you to see the silhouettes from the thistle flowers!  Those details turned out beautifully... the shadows looked like paintbrush strokes, thanks to the sun setting while I photographed.