Showing posts from May, 2014

Poetry: A Way of Life by Marjorie Welish

A Way of Life by  Marjorie Welish * The vintner says, "There is no prohibition against putting off                  a tourist needlessly." As a tourist aches, as a tourist experiences the entailment of Europe without the words and only a wallet to express, feeling adult but stored within the body of an infant, you may bathe now on the stairs of voices. And so when the concierge says that a tourist is one who does not speak, who does not dream, and who is not born presupposing our language, we cannot say there has been a violation if the tourist among us catches the historical entailment. The concierge does not touch his arm, however, to remind him of the predatory numbness setting in and what will follow:   feeling foreign from morning to noon. Even a vintner catches the entailment of Europe. You may bathe now on the stairs of voices, but the concierge will balk at linking arms with you. --- *At present, Welish is the best professor I have had i

Meet Ashleigh of Ashleigh Hodges Photo on Etsy!

I’m Ashleigh Hodges, a photographer and designer from Orinda, California. My label is Ashleigh Hodges Photo.  I work in my home studio while trying to keep up with my busy family of five. They include my children, Moriah, Elijah and Leilah and my ever supportive best friend and husband, Kevin.  I am the daughter of a potter and a retired electrician who now creates wood and metal garden sculptures, the niece of a painter, and the granddaughter of a woman who created beautiful quilts. Along life’s path, I discovered photography! My journey into the world of photography began over 30 years ago. I remember visiting San Diego Zoo when I was six and being mesmerized not by the beautiful animals but, by the shiny black camera my mom was using. How is it that she could capture our day in that little box and then have it printed for all to see?! By the time I was 14, I had my own "magic box," a 35mm Olympus camera. It was also at this time that my family began to trav

Observation: Light and Darkness

via I t is dark, and a bit of light seeps in from outside: soft and yellowish. Everything is wrapped, gently, in shadows. My eyes do not recognize the furniture nor the space. But my memory does. So I translate  the memory of my eyes as sight. Yet I distrust, a little, all that I had fully accepted to be true in the daylight. When all seemed clear, I arrogantly believed that, that which is visible is all that there is. It seems then that in both the light and its absence I am blind, but only in the darkness am I aware of my blindness. - Jane

Poetry: Ethics by Linda Pastan

via Ethics by Linda Pastan In ethics class so many years ago our teacher asked this question every fall: If there were a fire in a museum, which would you save, a Rembrandt painting or an old woman who hadn’t many years left anyhow?  Restless on hard chairs caring little for pictures or old age we’d opt one year for life, the next for art and always half-heartedly.  Sometimes the woman borrowed my grandmother’s face leaving her usual kitchen to wander some drafty, half-imagined museum. One year, feeling clever, I replied why not let the woman decide herself? Linda, the teacher would report, eschews the burdens of responsibility. This fall in a real museum I stand before a real Rembrandt, old woman, or nearly so, myself.  The colors within this frame are darker than autumn, darker even than winter — the browns of earth, though earth’s most radiant elements burn through the canvas. I know now that woman and painting and season are almost one and all be

Grad School Journal | A Bit Heavy

It is raining as I write this. I'm thinking of my first post here this semester and how much time has gone by and how  time hasn't really gone anywhere. As I read all these arguments left by these dead authors I feel they have lived: That they ate and slept, felt happiness and sadness, argued and fought, had sex and parties (even with Dickinson, one cannot be so certain). They knew childhood and some knew old age and what they have in common is not only that they left their thoughts and ideas in prose, poetry, and art to us. But that they cease to breathe.  When I expire will it be this that remains? My blog and such? Do I have anything that would stand in my stead and keep me "alive"? Of course not. But one can't really live like that, can one? Or better yet should one live today with the sole aim of preparing materials for tomorrow to remember them by? In that time is just a moment, nothing really matters; nothing is worth taking so seriously, is there? T

Poetry: This is Just to Say by William Carlos Williams

This is Just to Say By William Carlos Williams I have eaten the plums that were in the icebox and which you were probably saving for breakfast Forgive me they were delicious so sweet and so cold --- Listen to my reading of "This is Just to Say" below:

Meet Efrat of Efratul Designs

My name is Efrat.  I'm a graphic designer and the owner of Efratul Designs .  
I live and work in Tel Aviv, Israel.  I have two sweet sons, one is 4 years old and the other just turned one. My studio practices in graphic design — especially designing wedding albums — and we also have a line of products we make and sell online and at several stores here in Israel. My Map zipper pouches include different sizes of wallets, pencil cases, passport covers, clutches, and bags with map prints from different cities around the world.
 I studied industrial design, but I have always loved the graphic aspect of it.
  I combined them together and created a line of products which is very graphic but still usable and fun. I enjoy creating new patterns for my products, focusing on different cities in the world, and sometimes just colorful graphic patterns. I also make custom map wallets and custom zipper pouches. This way you can order a wallet with the  street map of any city yo

Observation: The Birds

via L ast Monday evening on a platform in Brooklyn, I waited for the train to bring me home to Queens. I looked up for airplanes, for the lines they make in the sky. Sometimes. Two birds flew... towards the direction I would have flown if I had wings. Dark feathers flap against clear blue skies. I watched.  One behind the other, always. And to the side sometimes, directly behind sometimes, a little closer sometimes, a little further sometimes. And never next to each other. They left no mark in the sky. --- -Jane