this is what you wear when you want to stand next to a southern French rural highway and blend in. find your inner plane tree. feel the mediterranean sun on your leaves. be the tree. no one can see you. be. the. tree.
plane tree bark
a little celebration of originality and not giving a damn what they think. you go, honey.
i have spent a couple of days experimenting with collage, trying to make patterms as minimal as possible, but still visually balanced and interesting. let me just say something. i call myself a minimalist, but i have realized over the last two days that i am a minimalist when it comes to lifestyle and interior design. artistic minimalism, on the other hand, currently feels about six leagues out of my grasp. should this go here? or here? or maybe just a hair farther over here? wait, this is totally boring. who would ever want to look at this? ok how about here? what if i tried this instead? or . . . i don’t know . . . this?
bamboo is actually the largest member of the grass family. this little guy has lived in a pot in our courtyard for several years, subject to the very french habit of pruning plants ruthlessly and relentlessly. but it has some family members that can grow three feet in a single 24 hour period. that’s about an inch and a half an hour, or 1 mm every 90 seconds. almost fast enough to see with the human eye. i wonder if our potted courtyard bamboo dreams of such wild abandon, as it sits still, submitting to yet another haircut.
i’m as excited as a schoolgirl going to see beyoncé. on saturday we will drive the three hours up to rodez, in the aveyron, where painter pierre soulages was born, and where he recently constructed a museum for his work. françois hollande, the french president, has called soulages the greatest living artist. he is known for his black on black painting, and his theory of “outrenoir” which means “beyond black,” and which focuses not on the blackness of black, but on the light that reflects off of black surfaces and makes them luminous. sigh. he’s ninety years old and has been married to the same woman for 70 years. sigh. he’s independently wealthy and gets up every morning still wanting to paint. sigh. i think i’m in love. if i see him, can i scream?