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Showing posts from November, 2015

Autumn Diary: Thanksgiving

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My family does not celebrate anything in a traditional sense. Birthdays included. But I had a fat cake for tea this morning. That is not usual. Mother baked it and it was so very good.

Poetry: This Living Hand by John Keats

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This Living Hand

This living hand, now warm and capable
Of earnest grasping, would, if it were cold
and in the icy silence of the tomb,
So haunt thy days and chill thy dreaming nights
That thou would wish thine own heart dry of blood
So in my veins red life might stream again,
and thou be conscience-calm'd––see here it is––
I hold it towards you––

-John Keats

Photography: Nasozi's Work Studio

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I went to Brooklyn the other day to check out my friend's work studio. Always curious about individual spaces and how we put them together, I was eager to see what Nasozi had done with her new one.  I loved the way she exhibited her materials and the intimate ways in which tools and decor combined to generate warmth.  So I took a few pictures to share with you. - Jane


General Update: Solitude

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within a place myself finds now to then is i
. a palm feeling with needs to speak   ess to
listen  ore. exotic, placed, shadows tremble
to shhh shshhh tramp-o-line shhhh shhhhh . place; unlike, tease not, to calm wallpaper
 with a cheshire cat for playmate.
- jane

Personal Style: Fall Into Spring With Pastels and Petals

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And another Friday is here. It is so gorgeous this morning that I am actually yearning for a walk...and I will, after this post, take one. Yesterday was sweetly blasted by some very good rain and the air now feels like it took a bath. I shot this style edition on Tuesday, which was another beautiful day.  No cloud in the sky. That autumn is, in a sense, alike to spring, has never been lost on me. One leads to a palette of minimalistic days and the other to an excessive, albeit never overbearing, colors and textures. So I thought I would entertain my sense of humor by wearing pastels this week and enjoying autumn in spring spirits. And it has been a really good way of spending time. You cannot see how gorgeous this sweater is because I have not shot the details. I bought it at the close of last winter, the best time to find fun sweaters on ridiculous sales. I chose it for its texture, color, and oversized cut. I used to not wear pink in order to make some sort of feminist stand. But t…

Grad School Diary: Ask and Ye Might Receive

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The other day in class, on the topic of Chaucer's Parliement of Fowls, my professor went into one of his interesting monologues about a reward system that often appears unfair when processed by reason. Although he applied this theory to the artist, it is, of course, applicable to other roles and situations in life. That one may do a certain amount of work and think it worth a certain amount of reward, only to find that, that which is given in reward is disappointing to their expectations. Hence that which one thinks due them may not necessary be that which is actually rewarded them. I thought I understood what he meant but felt it had very little to do with the Paliament of Fowls. Until re-reading the poem gave me another perspective on the female eagle's dismissal of the love proposals of the three male eagles; whom, each, wanted her for a sweetheart. Despite their display of great affections, their humiliating quarrels amongst themselves––upsetting the other birds––and desp…

Poetry: Fever 103° by Sylvia Plath

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Fever 103°

Pure? What does it mean?
The tongues of hell
Are dull, dull as the triple

Tongues of dull, fat Cerebus
Who wheezes at the gate. Incapable
Of licking clean

The aguey tendon, the sin, the sin.
The tinder cries.
The indelible smell

Of a snuffed candle!
Love, love, the low smokes roll
From me like Isadora’s scarves, I’m in a fright

One scarf will catch and anchor in the wheel.
Such yellow sullen smokes
Make their own element. They will not rise,

But trundle round the globe
Choking the aged and the meek,
The weak

Hothouse baby in its crib,
The ghastly orchid
Hanging its hanging garden in the air,

Devilish leopard!
Radiation turned it white
And killed it in an hour.

Greasing the bodies of adulterers
Like Hiroshima ash and eating in.
The sin. The sin.

Darling, all night
I have been flickering, off, on, off, on.
The sheets grow heavy as a lecher’s kiss.

Three days. Three nights.
Lemon water, chicken
Water, water make me retch.

I am too pure for you or anyone.
Your body
Hurts me a…

Photography: At the Farmers Market

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- Jane


A Postcard From Feelings

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Hellooo (insert Adele's new song here) just a little note to say I have not gone fishing but I  wouldn't mind doing some knitting and crocheting. However, the thing is that, exhaustion has come  down to visit, and I am doing my best to be a good host.
O_O Jane

Personal Style: Fall Into Sunshine (Plaid on Stripes)

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This autumn feels different. It is a delicious awakening. After all these years of finding fall so very sad, telling myself I will not be fooled by nature in being distracted by how beautiful the leaves turn and drift splendidly to the ground and how sweet the crispy weather feels after the intense heat of summer. But I see now that I have been fooling myself. The dying is as beautiful as the rebirth. And I can enjoy the melancholy, and be inspired by it. So for the first time since I have come to know these seasons, I am not going through autumn guarded. I am giving myself to it and it feels ecstatic to be fully tuned to its charm. I find myself coming to full stops on my walks and errands so as to get a better look and admire how the leaves glow in certain lights. The other day I watched a squirrel burry its nuts and I wondered, are squirrels happy? What does happiness means to a squirrel? The chirping birds are leaving but the soft music of rustling leaves is sensual and the delig…

Grad School Diary: Summoning Thoughts

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Remember when I said the state of my imagination can best be described as in constant haywire? Good. I think a good education requires a healthy imagination and curiosity about that which cannot be watered down into language; that which can only be truly appreciated in sensing and feeling in its undiluted form. I have this not so new theory that we can reach one another through our thoughts. Not that we can read each other's mind (though I would not be surprised if it was possible. Snape was pretty good at it), but that we can somehow connect with others through, for lack of a better phrasing, our thinking. Not mere uninterested thoughts, something more electric. And by electric I mean a thought produced by genuine desire. The issue with talking about these things is that not many people can participate without a deaf ear to everything and an acute interest in diagnosing the mental health of the speaker. But I am not afraid of appearing mad. In fact, I have arrived at the thinkin…

Poetry: From The House of Fame by Geoffrey Chaucer

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From The House of Fame

Lo, how a woman goes amiss
In loving him that unknown is,
For, by Christ, lo, thus it fares:
All is not gold that glitters there.
For, as I hope to keep my head,
There may under charm instead
Be hidden many a rotten vice;
Therefore let none be so nice
As to judge a love by how he appear
Or by speech, or by friendly manner;
For this shall every woman find:
That some men are of that kind
That show outwardly their fairest,
Till they have got what they miss.
And then they will reasons find
Swearing how she is unkind,
Or false, or secret lover has.
All this say I of Aeneas
And Dido, so soon obsessed,
Who loved too swiftly her guest;
Therefore I will quote a proverb,
That ‘he who fully knows the herb
May safely set it to his eye’;
Certainly, that is no lie.

- Geoffrey Chaucer

Photography: The Falling

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The Falling 
dying saw eye in falling beauty-soaked death sucked of greens ecstatically   to brittle  to crisp  to dried  crumbly red browns yellow oranges  demise mocking a mourning eye imagined  of lethal white frozen greed drawing warmth and moisture  is fear veiled to   awe of breath
-- Jane Odartey



My Grandmother's Best Friend

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If you have noticed, I do not write at the end of months, and sometimes too at their beginnings. I like to break routine. It is very easy to take things for granted in robotic rituals. Well, happy November! ^_^  Time, seemingly a wallpaper is yet again the center of our attention. 2015 has almost expired. Of course, I panicked, not a lot, and started going over my resolution list. I did not accomplish some of the things I wanted to, but I did accomplish my biggest resolution of the year and that means PARTY! And party means a nice bowl of yogurt with all my favorite fruits and my own homemade coconut-honey granola...and if I can afford it, I will see an off-broadway play or something.  I am delaying the partying until my looking forward to it is no longer enjoyable. Ah, but you must wonder about my Nana's best friend. It is, after all, the title of this post.
Paafio is dead. Paafio, was what he responded to. The name translates to little father, but means uncle––one's father …