Once

OnceIt was all about the music and a romance that grew and was in part denied. Reviews hailed it as a modern day musical; it won honors at the 2006 Sundance Festival.

I became very quickly enthralled by the music and by this street singer who was so earnest in his songwriting and singing. But what REALLY drew me in, aside from his talent – and hers – was the collaboration – no, that would be the wrong word – the joy, the magic, that happened when two or more people began playing music together. In an early scene, he (Glen Hansard) and she (Marketa Irglova) sit down in the music store, he giving her the basic tune lines on guitar and vocal, and she picks them up on the piano. Then they play together and it does become magcial. Later they go to what would seem to be an open mic of sorts in Dublin, and again, people begin to just play and sing together.

CandlelightIt took me back to college. I was in a NYC art school, known for art and architecture, and packed with creative people of all sorts. I remember sitting around at night over one of our places, always by candlelight – Michael, Kenny, Tom and Susie playing acoustic guitar, Wendy and I singing. We sang Dylan, Peter, Paul and Mary, Ian and Sylvia, Baez, Ochs, Joni Mitchell … whoever inspired us. On guitar – 6 and 12 string – they played off one another, inventing and spurring each other on. And we all sang. Whenever we got together this way, it was always amazing … and magical. No one was formally trained – we just did it, and long hours into the night. And laughter … there was lots of laughter.

And that’s what Once brought back to me. Pretty powerful. It was a romance in its own way, and it wasn’t clear where it was going between the two – you never really even heard their names – that wasn’t the point. But where it was going was the mutual sharing of each other through music, how they each grew and what they did with it.

I guess you could say it was a “small” film – I don’t remember ever seeing it in local papers. The music was great, and it was all written by the two people in the movie, who are in fact, musicians, not trained actors. About 60% of the movie was music – not Hollywood grand style – spontaneous and real. The filming was casual, using whatever light there was. At times, it was hard to understand what he said with the Irish accent. That didn’t matter much either.

I’d recommend it to anyone who loves music, who knows what it’s like to play music with others or has wanted to, and who is happy with a small, intelligent film. I’ll see it again.

Winter Fog

 Fog on the Tracks

The sky brightens slowly, reluctant to let go of the dark clouds that blew rain all night from west to east. Nearly white with subtle shades of ghostly grey, it relinquishes its hold, allowing some sun, but strictly as backlighting. The ground warms, soft steam rises from the earth and a gentle, low-lying mist seeps through the yards and streets. A white cloud fills the Delaware like so much chilly winter breath. And at the end of the tracks, the fog waits, measuring the time to pull in to town.

What the WGA Strike Did For Me

In 6 words? It gave me my evenings back!

WGA strikeI don’t suppose I’m terribly different from anyone else when I say after working an average 10+ hour day, having something to eat and feeding the small fry, all I really want to do is relax for a little while. It’s not unusual for me to catch a couple hours TV before hitting the sack if I’m not elsewhere for the evening. I’m not a TV addict at all, but I do enjoy some well done shows a few nights a week. Not too much to ask, right?

And then came the writers’ strike. OK, for awhile some of the shows still had some episodes in the can to play out, and then it just flat out came to Repeats. I’d check online to see if anything good might be on on a given night … more Repeats. Hey, this was getting boring.

Next thing I know, I was picking up that novel I was usually reading at 10:30 or 11 pm at 8 pm. I was doing the artwork I thought I was too tired to do curled up on the couch away from my work desk. I threw in some laundry; cooked something a little more involved. Hey! I remember this! It used to be my life! What’s most amazing is that I really didn’t think I had this energy in the evening until someone took away my quiet, drool time in front of the TV.

I hear that the strike is in the process of being resolved. Figures. Just when I was starting to enjoy it.

Requiem for A Featherweight

StripesShe was a tiny little thing, and I’d really grown so very fond of her. Sadly, Stripes is no more and I sure do miss her.

People always find me when they have a problem with an animal, and so it was a few nights ago that my neighbor across the street had knocked on my door. She said she’d just come home and saw a cat in the road hit by a car … it looked like my next door neighbor’s. I grabbed my coat and ran out to find Stripes lying there, bleeding, still warm, the life knocked out of her limp body.

Stripes did indeed belong to the folks next door, and had two young girls that loved her.  Stripes and Pumpkin, half siblings, are/were primarily outdoor cats with shelter in their garage at night, all up to date with shots, neutered, etc. Her life with me was somewhat tangential, I guess you could say, but I loved her nonetheless. I saw her daily, fed her a “snack/meal” almost every day, and sat outside with her whenever I could.

With big green eyes and so very sweet and affectionate, Stripes was a little heartbreaker, and I say little – she couldn’t have been more than 5 pounds. I’d sit out on my porch to journal with my feet up on another chair so she could fall asleep on my legs. After eating, Pumpkin was off to whatever he had next on his schedule, but Stripes would have cuddled as long as the cuddles were coming. She patiently allowed me to remove the burrs from her fur acquired from her gallivanting all over the neighborhood, where she was a disturbingly good huntress. It’s no coincidence, I think, that there was a dead mouse about 2 feet from where her body lay in the road.

I miss those hopeful green eyes looking up at me through my back door screen … for a bite to eat or perhaps some snuggling … she loved any and all attention. Mine are my indoor cats; Stripes and Pumpkin had become my part-time, outdoor cats. It doesn’t matter that she wasn’t “mine.” She found a comfortable spot in my heart, and that’s where Stripes sleeps tonight.

Sweet dreams, little one.

CRASH!

That’s not the beginning of a children’s book – it was the final sound of my G4 giving up the ghost. I work on a Mac – the G4 was a beautiful, silvery machine with a mirrored CD drawer. The artist in me loved just the look; the professional artist in me loves the whole way a Macintosh works and all the ways it makes my work possible.

It had been locking up way too much; freezing while I jumped between programs … I should have called my Mac guy earlier, but it may have been too late, anyway. I’m told this version of the Mac tended to run hot, and I, for most of its life, had no A/C. Sadly, I may have inadvertently brought about it’s demise.

The new iMac

Now that a phenomenally stressful week sans-Mac of my life has passed, and I’m almost caught up with all I couldn’t do without it, I sit in front of a yet more beautiful machine – an iMac.

With great speed, an OS so quiet I can’t even hear it and a big, black glass monitor which shows me perfect detail, my heart is beginning to rest. I’ll somehow manage the unexpected expense, and am happily exploring what this new version brings me. Is it sick to love your computer? Or is it about the life it makes possible for me … it probably doesn’t matter. I’m writing again, scanning, designing and creating … with a big freakin’ smile on my face. And THAT’s what matters.

Want to see what I do with my Mac? Check out the Creative Services I offer on my web site.