Thoughts:

1. My flannel sheets and I will become one after I get out of class at three today. 

We will stay one until tomorrow morning. 

2. Sufjan Stevens. 

(His show was mystifying.)

3. I need some good, southern cooking.

Cornbread, pork chops and gravy, green beans, collards, ahh.

4. Gloria (the newest addition to my apartment mini family, a goldfish) and her back problem.

5. Sleeeeeeeeeeeeep.

November's Soundtrack

Wild Child

Eels

Sufjan Stevens

Keaton Henson

Devotchka

Sigur Ros

"Your handwriting. The way you walk. Which china pattern you choose.

It's all giving you away. Everything you do shows your hand.

Everything is a self-portrait.

Everything is a diary."

-Chuck Palahniuk

"Good luck exploring the infinite abyss."

Unfortunately, I have no pictures of this evening. The one night that I don't have a camera of any sort, I go somewhere and see something that very, very few people are ever able to see and something that I will never see again. The Brookwood Coal Mine. Yes, it's very controversial and it's bad for the BlackWarrior River. But, when you're wearing a vintage, olive green, metal hard hat and standing on a tall mound of rocks, looking down hundreds and hundreds of feet into what looks like a scene from a movie, for a fraction of a second the only thing on your mind is how incredible it is. Surrounded by mountains of coal, various rocks, gigantic bulldozers, trucks with 9 ft. tall wheels, dump trucks that are big enough to carry three large vans, and the metallic drilling sound of drills as large as dinosaurs, it was easily one of the coolest nights of my life. I probably sound like a nine year old boy and that's okay with me. After we passed around pieces of coal, stared down into the canyon for a while, and watched the mine workers bustle to and fro, we drove over to the "ponds". Even though these are man-made ponds in the middle of what used to be a ginormous crater like the one we were previously at, it was breathtakingly beautiful. After the men are finished drilling in an area, they cover it up, plant grass and trees on it, make some ponds, and try to make it look the way it did before they started their drilling. (This is impossible, by the way.)

At that point, my class and I were standing on top of a mound of gravel and looking out at huge man-made hills, covered with freshly planted grass and small, growing trees. In the middle of these hills, there were two small ponds and the sound of crickets and a bubbling brook could be heard in the distance. Surrounding this area were very old, tall trees with leaves of the most vibrant reds and oranges. This entire picture was tinted with a deep blueish pink from the setting sun (that we were facing). All bundled up in coats and scarves, sixteen college students, a Science teacher, one mine worker, and two museum curators watched the sun set together.

So, as much as I would like to think about the BlackWarrior River and the pollutants that are going in it at this very moment, I just can't. Not today. I can think about that tomorrow and the next day and the next. But for now, I have coal on my hands and a smudge of it on my right cheek. 

For now I'd rather think about that.

Roland Reiner Tiangco's Dirt Poster

I love you, Claude.

&

 I love you, Friday.

Untitled  Robert Rauschenberg

“I have various tricks to actually reach that solitary point of creativity. One of them is pretending I have an idea. But that trick doesn’t survive very long because I don’t really trust ideas – especially good ones. Rather, I put my trust in the materials that confront me, because they put me in touch with the unknown.” - Robert Rauschenberg

Today, I gave a presentation on Robert Rauschenberg to my intermediate painting class and after researching him all night and completing three research assignments about him, I was beaming with  inspiration. I'm a believer in process. I like noticing development, change, and improvement. When I paint, the process of painting is the most special thing about it to me. Of course, the content matters. But I am tied to my materials and I love getting dirty. I know which corner had that weird splintered area that I glued down before I gessoed it.  I know about that weird corner where I cut the canvas too short and had to make a patch. I know these little details and I love them. I love being fluid and free or meticulous and careful. I have found that I love painting on hard surfaces as opposed to stretched, bouncy canvas. I love my process. The reason why I picked Rauschenberg was that he was all about process as well. So, now tons of ideas are rolling around in my noggin and I'm already making plans for them. I'll probably live at Woods Hall for the next few weeks and strangely,  I don't mind that one bit. I may invest in one of those foldable chairs that come in a little sack so that I can sleep on the balcony and watch the sunrise. It'll be chilly. Maybe I'll bring a blanket too. 

Well, now I am wrapped up in my favorite cardigan and a blanket that belonged to my grandmother and eating my dad's homemade pickles. I guess I'd rather write about Rauschenberg and pickles than read about dysphagia. 

Introducing Gus and Vincent

“Alive without breath,
As cold as death;
Never thirsty, ever drinking,
All in mail never clinking.” 

J. R. R. Tolkien

 Gus

 Vincent

Gus and homemade pickles.

note: vincent's mason jar is a temporary living space

Chris Frey

Leaves

"And since I'm still here livin', I guess I will live on.

I could have died for love-

but for livin' I was born."

-Langston Hughes