l'heure exquisée

From a message from Belle to J, 14 July 2008

It's a beautiful hour here, the time of day when landscapes and interiors take on a timeless light. After six, it's past late afternoon, not yet dusk, not yet the gloaming. Is there a name for precisely this in-between time, I wonder? I think of the Hawaiian "flash," the fabled tourist moment before the sun, descending by degrees, sinks finally into the sea, at which moment - or just before - there might appear a sudden flash of green. That's not it, here; no flash. Throughout the house and across the vast surrounding landscape and terrain, it's time suspended in green and gold.

***

We know these women from our postcards:
Beautiful, but inclined to blow away...

***
A new Pottery Barn catalogue also came in the mail yesterday.


Darling, I won't blow away.

Because I like it better, here, near the core.
You are sitting on the sofa.
Have a glass of something.

***
credits:
L'Heure Exquisée, collage, John Ashbery
February 2010 Pottery Barn catalogue
"Happy as the Sun," John Ashbery, Planisphere, p. 36
"He Who Loves and Runs Away," John Ashbery, Planisphere, p. 37-38

Tailor-made to delight me

Keep each day brimming with lunacy, love, & limitless adventure. Yes!

Organized camera

From dream noted 1 February 2010:

A tall young man in a tightfitting silvery spandex suit… At Hudson train station. I see that this young man (reminds me of the guy on stilts in Winter Walk) is a train conductor. He goes up the stairs to the platform, where a circus train has pulled into the station. It’s pretty marvelous – what a great idea, a moving circus! Which explains his costume – strange costume I had said, maybe to [my girfriend] X, who (I think) is with me. The circus cars are colorful, larger than life – like boxes of animal crackers made large.

Then I’m at a different place along the tracks, and another marvelous train pulls in. This one seems to be all about candy – again, large, colorful, illustrated. I admire it, and then kick myself for not thinking to pull out my camera. X helps me fish it out, but by the time I have it turned on – the train has pulled away.

***

Bonus track:

From dream noted 14 October 2008

With a group of people, planning a winter outing in the outdoors. Gingerbread cookies I made were a hit and I consider making them again.

Standards & Practices

From message from Belle to J,
8 November 2008

You know, I'm literally half-blind, from amblyopia in my left eye. This half-blindness has been a central, governing metaphor in my life, strangely enough – or perhaps naturally enough. As aware as I am or think I am about things, I am quite blind/innocent/oblivious/
clueless to other things that are obvious to everyone else.

Don't tell me you're too blind to see
--Rick Astley

I say it all the time
You don't pay no mind
When I tell ya
That I love ya
Now do ya?
-- Vetiver

When I posted the Franz Marc image yesterday I thought it was 100% Gratuitous Sexual Innuendo free, never occurred to me otherwise. But Legal (a/k/a Lurid) showed up on my 2nd glass of wine that evening, and well - wow.

Ha! Creative rules. Delicious waking thoughts this morning.

image (above) from page 14 of Anthropologie catalogue, featuring "shrinking violet booties" ($368) and "wild meadow booties" ($298)

From message from Belle to J, 9 July 2008

It is a beautiful early morning here. About an hour ago I stepped outside in my nightgown and a denim jacket (for decency). I took a long circle around the house in my flipflops, walking through the grass. It's overgrown with clover & wildflowers, but it looks lovely, not neglected. You were in my thoughts... [remainder redacted - Privileged & Confidential]

yes, like that

From dream noted 10 October 2008:

... am in a beachfront house... There’s a man on the beach with a caravan (a bus), lots of goods. He’s here to give me presents, consolation prizes. I’m thinking it’s J., but I think actually it’s the 12534 guy. Quite an imaginative set of presents – I only remember a few – pencils, a book of Whistler paintings – I wish I remembered more, they were all a delight, tailor-made to delight me. What I wish from J., I suppose, but don’t get...

Cover of the Anthropologie catalogue that arrived in the mail today. Occasionally this blog just writes itself!

Lady with the Cat

I have just woken from a nap. I am tired. I feel as though my heart is pounding but it isn't really. I have a sense of moment, of being caught up in a wave, an overwhelming wave and I am overwhelmed but trying not to be overwhelmed but it's big and I just have to keep on top of it and go with it and let it run its course and marvel at the sea-green cold and enjoy the warmth of the bedcovers even as my head pounds and feels like the sound you hear when you put a shell to your ear which at one time I did think was the ocean but turns out to be the blood coursing through my veins. So the blood is coursing through my veins and my hand moves across the page and I breathe, and breathe, and lie back still, knees up, bare, hand on my thigh, smooth and warm, and my hand moves and I wait for you and wonder when tu viendras.

feathers of blue

Strange sight on my way to the library yesterday. As I turned onto 9J a pickup pulled ahead of me. It had a snowplow attachment in front, and in the open bed stood a large fabricated blue horse. I wanted to take a picture but there was no way to organize it while driving, fish the camera out of my bag for starters. The horse was draped, as if for warmth, with a colorful wool serape. It sailed up the road in front of me as we made our way north.

A white van crossed the double lines, zoomed ahead and disappeared from view. A few minutes later the truck with the horse pulled over to the side of the road. I glanced in the mirror and saw why. A police car, lights flashing, sped by. When it passed I thought I'll go ahead of the truck - but he suddenly pulled back onto the road and I found myself in the wrong lane alongside it. I'm glad that error didn't cost me, and fortunately I was able to fall back behind him (there were cars behind me).

I followed the horse for several miles, past the police stop of the speeder, until I turned onto Rectory Road.

Blue horse, blue horse. It reminds me of something - but what? Chagall? (No, Franz Marc.) Carousels - an attorney I used to work for and liked very much collects them, I believe. Blue horse, Blue Stores. Was it even a horse? Maybe it was a donkey!

George, live the dream. If you want that donkey, buy it. You don't want to look back years later and think, 'How different would my life have been if I'd bought that donkey in 1938?' Trust me - I know.

***
P.S. Song on Women of Note last night:
Back in your own backyard
Back where you started from
That bird with feathers of blue
Is waiting for you
You'll find your happiness lies
Back in your own backyard.
Yes, darling!