
An illustrated packing list from a notebook by the artist Adolf Konrad, Dec. 16, 1963.
via ‘Lists,’ Exhibition at Morgan Library & Museum - NYTimes.com

An illustrated packing list from a notebook by the artist Adolf Konrad, Dec. 16, 1963.
via ‘Lists,’ Exhibition at Morgan Library & Museum - NYTimes.com
Envy works upon what is close at hand, and things that are far off we are more free to admire.
Bike messenger, gallery assistant, office temp. I took these jobs to make money, but there was also an aspect of penance to them. I don’t know exactly for what sin I was repenting. Maybe the sin of having gone to graduate school for writing. On some level, I saw these jobs as a kind of Karma insurance. It was a way of testing myself: You want to be a writer? Can you handle this? How about this?

Back by Mary Henderson. The great majority of photorealistic painting leaves me cold, but that skin and sand… (via this month’s Harper’s)
Life will follow the path it started upon, and will neither reverse nor check its course; it will make no noise, it will not remind you of its swiftness. Silent it will glide on; it will not prolong itself at the command of a king, or at the applause of the populace. Just as it was started on its first day, so it will run; nowhere will it turn aside, nowhere will it delay.
Radiohead - Staircase (live From the Basement). New song. Self-recommending, as they say.
(Source: https://www.youtube.com/)
127 Hours. This was the perfect movie to watch while trapped in the middle of a 10-hour plane ride. Well done. We need more 90-minute movies.
He who bestows all of his time on his own needs, who plans out every day as if it were his last, neither longs for nor fears the morrow. For what new pleasure is there that any hour can now bring? They are all known, all have been enjoyed to the full.
Seneca is my new jam.
Without the making of theories I am convinced there would be no observations.
–Charles Darwin.
(Via Sam Anderson’s sentence of the week. Been thinking about “we see what we’re looking for” in terms of writing, and especially blogging. I find that when I set up a tag, often it’s a hopeful gesture, as if I’m saying, “Two or three makes a pattern. I’ll bet there’s more. I’ll name this so I can keep track of it and then I’ll keep an eye out for things to add.” And when I start a book, it’s, “There’s something to this. Let’s give this a name and start working on it.” Then the real gathering begins…)
Reminds me of a favorite Justin Wehr quote: “‘Organizing’ is really just an ugly way of saying ‘drawing connections’.” Or like with photo captions, you can’t help but be influenced by the labels put on things…

Pretty sure I was Buster Keaton’s biggest fan in a previous life.

Art Space Tokyo. If my vacation wasn’t the last-minute cluster that I seem to specialize in, I would have purchased this book ahead of time. Luckily, Craig Mod is kind and has some awesome Tokyo art maps online, too.

Catherine Christer Hennix - The Electric Harpsichord [1976]. Dang. Great piece of music. (Some say it’s “possibly THE obscure masterpiece of the days of the early American minimalism.”) In a stroke of unintentional genius, I apparently had my playlist such that it segued right into Bach’s Fantasy in A minor, BWV922 on harpsichord. Boom. And apparently I already had a harpsichords tag?
Heaven knows! such lives as yours, though they should pass the limit of a thousand years, will shrink into the merest span; your vices will swallow up any amount of time.
Days of Thunder. It’s not very good. But is Robert Duvall the most likable actor of all time? Also, I didn’t realize that director Tony Scott is Ridley Scott’s little brother.

Of course it’s a little strange if there’s another player that usually beats the best player ever. This debate is funny, and not just because it’s impossible to compare players across generations. It’s an attempt to make the present eternal.
Back to the Future. I had an essentially perfect viewing at Screen on the Green. Far too long since the last time. I’m still blown away how flawless this movie is. Seems like not a single wasted second in the whole thing.

General Orders No. 9. I’m curious about this documentary. Trailer.
General Orders No. 9 breaks from the constraints of the documentary form as it contemplates the signs of loss and change in the American South. […] Told entirely with images, poetry, and music, General Orders No. 9 is unlike any film you have ever seen. A story of maps, dreams, and prayers, it’s one last trip down the rabbit hole before it’s paved over.