beginnings

I guess that you could say I've been on a digi-hiatus.

While I would like to claim it was an intentional, holistic endeavor, it really can be credited to an ancient, dying computer (that I've had since high school) and my inability to pay for the internet.

And now I pause to wonder why we feel so obligated to justify our internet/blogging absences and why we set up disclaimers and explanations....
With that aside, I can now guiltlessly share thoughts about nothing:

I have a new and over-eager obsession with ordinary things, prompted by Tara Donovan's exhibit at the ICA. She creates landscapes out of straws, buttons, and cups by the thousands. I went to the show a few weeks ago and can't stop thinking about it. The art, yes, but also the sheer joy it created. Never in my life have I seen people line up in awe of styrofoam cups - gasping, laughing, applauding - it was astounding. I almost got more enjoyment in watching the people watch the inanimate objects. Strangers chatted, sharing stories as they contorted their bodies to view straws at just the right angle, and I couldn't help but note the sort of community that came about. I kept thinking: this is what art should be, creating awe out of nothing and allowing people to enter into a dialogue within the shared experience.

After the show, I headed to the bookstore to use a coupon. And since I had a discount, I committed to buying a book based on sole instinct - not a classic, not a top-seller, not a book on the central table, stacked with favorites - but one that would reach out and grab me for no particular reason. It proved to be much harder than I thought. I think I take comfort in reviews and recommendations, which is strange, because I so often disagree with them. But there was something very freeing about the whole experience.

So, a quote from the shelves of Harvard Bookstore, specifically, The Book of Words:

"All of it must be thought into nothingness, one whorl of gray matter at a time, until in the end a spoonful of me will be left glistening at the bottom. I must seize memory like a knife and turn it against itself, stabbing memory with memory. If I can."