I have to admit, I am a space snob. I break out into a cold sweat if I so much as glance at spotty window panes, with dusty Red Rose tea figurines lining the windowsills (watching me with glazed eyes!), or a muted room with popcorn ceilings, and diabolical fluorescent lights clinging to its pocked… Continue reading Dating My Wardrobe: Space Poetics of Innisfree
As I embark on a sartorial romance, dating my vintage wardrobe, I realize that the clothes on my back are the only real constant in my life. Every seven years, my very own body freakishly exists as a collection of completely new regenerated cells, and I certainly have changed my mind over the steady march… Continue reading Dating My Wardrobe: Negotiating Space at Naumkeag
Beauport, Sleeper-McCann House Sometimes love is forbidden. You have to contain it, house it in an interior world of desire and expectation, where only those who have been invited into the sanctum of the self get to see it. In my humble view, Henry Davis Sleeper’s gorgeous summer home, Beauport, located on the Eastern Point… Continue reading Dating My Wardrobe: Interior Desires, Henry Davis Sleeper’s Beauport
Well, if you have been reading my posts thus far, you’ll detect a sickening smidgeon of sadness in my narrative. Apparently, it takes about a year for my brain to process and come to terms with the fact that ANYONE would ever want to dump moi! How could they?! Fast forward to one year later,… Continue reading Dating My Wardrobe: Kaaterskill Falls
If you’re wondering why I’m having all of these hot dates with myself, I should start at the beginning of my tale, when in June of 2017 I was abruptly dumped by a major dumb-dumb with a wandering eye. While being relegated to the status of chopped liver by my boyfriend initiated my experiment with dating… Continue reading My Own Muse: Hot Date With Myself, No. 4, Nick Cave’s “Until,” at MASS MoCA
After climbing out of the metaphorical blackened crevasse of an ugly break-up in June, I decided that it was high time that I surfaced for some sunshine. Don’t get me wrong, living as a troglodyte for one month had its benefits. I finished reading my collection of Regency-era romance novels, and binge-watched Korean dramas for… Continue reading My Own Muse: Hot Date with Myself, No. 2, Blithewood Garden, Red Hook, NY.
I embark upon this new year, wearing plaid pants, a banana brooch, and a big-old leopard-print swing coat. Embedded in the threads of my loud and incongruous get-up are messages of hope, destiny, and….what the hell am I doing with myself in 2018?!?! Like the clothes that I wear, this question is rhetorical. As a… Continue reading A Leopard Must Change its Spots….
As the Greek muse of comedy, Thalia is among my favorite of the fair affecters. She sparks a willingness to smile and knows that a perfectly timed practical joke is worth more than a picture and its thousand words. At least, that’s what my muse of comedy, Mona Lisa, could tell you! On August 21st,… Continue reading My Muses: Thalia and the Mona Lisa
Winslow Homer’s Eagle Head, Manchester, Massachusetts (High Tide), which is exhibited in the American Wing of the Metropolitan Museum of Art, represents a transitional period in American art, clothing, and society. Embedded within the appearance of the three young women on the seashore, rendered with lively brush strokes, is a cultural cocktail of change and… Continue reading The Victorian Bathing Suit of Winslow Homer’s “High Tide”
I just adore this portrait of Elizabeth Farren! As soon as I enter the gallery where she is housed (in the European wing of the Metropolitan Museum of Art), I swoon. I hardly notice any other portraits around me. It’s just Elizabeth Farren and I in that room. I’m infatuated. In love. But what makes… Continue reading The Portrait of Elizabeth Farren, Painted by Sir Thomas Lawrence (1789)