Lingerie (Taken with instagram)
The last mad men ad was super minimalist and almost elitist. Really it was pretty brilliant. This one, however, is more…ummm, solicitous? (Taken with instagram)
Making Milton Glaser proud (Taken with Instagram at The Compleat Sculptor)
OLD/FOUND MUSINGS on an OLD/FOUND HOUSE: the CASSIDY “trash house” -2008
I am engulfed in the gigantic drooping sweater, cardigan from the trash house. Not a Cassidy original but one of the many other brands she collected.
We pulled from a pile.
Sleeves folded up thick into cuffs.
(I seem to move along the train tracks: first from home in East Hill, then southwest to ‘the flop house’ in North Hill, east to the ‘treahouse’ or was it the ‘house on the lake’ .. and now I’m at ‘Gran’s house’)
Kasey, there is a place you should see if you haven’t yet, I don’t know. But it’s the Cassidy house, the trash house, grandma’s house. A place you can live in for a while and inherit things from—as if you were family. Things from piles taller than people.
I felt like an insect in a pile of shit. We were crawling about despite cat pee to make use of the waste: magnificent discoveries of clothing, photographs, dressers and drawers full of everything. But at some moment they suddenly up and left. A mini urban Pompeii without the bodies. A gigantic hellishly beautiful doll’s house. Dr. Cassidy has paper with his (her?) name printed onto it in one room and nineteen seventies porn in another. And Mrs. Cassidy has a bathroom closet with a wrack along the door full of shoes that don’t fit so even though you want them they remain hers. While the rabbit figurines and obnoxious and classic clothes, brittle books and coffee mugs go into the hands of us. A musty and stiff jacket of “Israeli leather” really ungraceful but powerful in design as it swoops down the body into long sections that make an A-line. Dust-covered Lolita. Cat pea soaked the leather.
Sometimes we imagine the way the lives of the Cassidys were—caked between these layers. It makes me think of the ball you made of all your clothes. But the Cassidy house is way more sensual. There is a visceral power that can be lost in extreme abstraction. It is, I suppose, to gain a different kind of power. . . .I’m not sure that I can say either kind is better.
stills capturing the president’s motorcade going through downtown Pensacola. strung together with original sound.
the disparity between ceremony (all that seems to be accomplished) and what is actually accomplished. it reminded me of what i’ve learned about some early civilizations where goods were amassed from the people into the hands of a “strong man” who would periodically redistribute these goods in ceremonious ways. the inadequacy of bureaucracy. well how would you have spent that money? if you had not been taxed out of it? this has nothing to do with my being a democrat or a republican or an independent with socialist tendencies—all of which, I am. it’s just a note taken on the state of effectual disparity in government. perhaps an inevitability.
Really it was just the damn visit that got to me. A chance for a photo-op. A lesson learned from Bush’s lack of presence immediately after Katrina from which Obama seemed to be trying to save himself. Maybe it looked good. But I doubt it really did any.
So Emily got to see him, hear him talk. I got held up by him, for work that is. I’ll have to examine each of these photos tot try to determine which vehicle he’s in. I hope he had a grrreat time at our lovely Pensacola Beach!