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03 August 2007

'Shall I be prisoner 'til my pulses stop'

So I've been reading a lot of Millay lately. There is a book of sonnets which tell the  story of a love affair, tragic from the start. It's called Fatal Interview. The way this woman could string together a thought is extraordinary. Here's something from #18:  "Shall I be prisoner 'til my pulses stop", or from #20: 'let your mind,/ Wearied with thinking, doze upon the thought."

Ordinary sentiment, ordinary words; put together in a way which captures and exalts the emotion. "Til my pulses stop"; easily understood. Some form of the meaning is common, cliche even. 'Be still my heart, 'racing pulses', hearts that 'skip a beat'; these and more are all part of our cardiovascular vernacular. But to put the words together in that way, so close to what is familiar, but not. It gives the phrasing a startling freshness which is met with immediate recognition.

Millay was an artistic genius an intellectual romantic; with emphasis on 'artist' and 'romantic. She never tried to impress with tricked out words. She communicated in plain language on topics of love, death nature artistic integrity.  And with such beauty and ingenuity. Amazing. There's no one like her. Let your mind wearied with thinking doze upon that thought.

02 August 2007

More evidence of my startling brilliance....and a teaser

So in the middle of the night I was fooling with ideas for an online auction to raise money for Bakery's film (yes, I said film...more on that tomorrow) project.
Actually, no . . . I can't wait. I had this idea for a movie..have had for years, and now with  my new 'If I Fail...Fail Spectacularly' mind set I thought, 'Why the heck not?' Give it the old college try.

My brain turned to first steps of lawyers and screenplays and incorporation and coming up with the green to make the bus go. One of the ideas was to do an online auction featuring these fabulous little getaway packages put together by a Charity Villas LLC specifically for nonprofits. But where, oh where, to list the auction? That's when I made my third mistake (the first and second being to surf the web in the middle of the night with 'ideas' brewing in my brain) of downloading Overstock.com's listing software.

It seemed like a brilliant idea at the time, create the listing now and fine tune it over the next week or so while laying the groundwork for the auction itself. . . promoting it, etc. Well. . .don't ask how ('cause I don't know) some how I managed to list the darn trip . . . twice. I soon discovered that though I could cancel the items, I would be charged for listing them anyway...and given the high-ticket reserve . . . um . . . they ain't cheap. So my dearly darlings if you are or know anyone who is hankering after a 4 day, 3 night stay at the Hyatt Regency in SF w/ airfare included please point them in the direction of our first auction...or the second.

27 July 2007

The Roses of Victory...Or the Smell of De-feet

My current situation has me thinking a lot about success and failure and fear; fear of success for which there is no roadmap; or failure that is public, humiliating and makes one look foolish for having tried at all. I'm alright by the way, safely ensconced with friends in beautiful Trinity County. Getting better, getting stronger and thinking about next steps.
I've always felt there was glory in Attempt. Something beautiful and even sacred in the process of inspiration and bringing an idea into reality. But I've always held my hand . . . attempted, but without really risking enough to either succeed or fail completely. So many dreams deferred, but none ridden into the dust of defeat or soaring on the wings of victory; but always that bizarre purgatory of . . . almost or . . . eventually.
Next steps, geographically at any rate will most probably see me in Holland before the year is out, either temporarily or permanently. What next for Maya/de Bergerac . . . the kid herself? Well, if you know your cinema history that last sentence was a bit of a hint. What should be my next goal?

The only thing I know for certain is that I'm tired of whiny whimper-y half-keistered failure. The ones that make it hard put for anyone to blame me for the situation, even if they can't fully comprehend the circumstances. I'm also sick of half-stepped victory, the ones where I execute a 'unique' idea 'wisely' (French, for a watering down brilliant inspiration) and get part of what I want, but not the whole enchilada. I still look like an 'eccentric' to my more straight-laced friends without having felt either the cleansing burn of an idea going up in flames or the vindication of victory.

So for my next number, I've decided on a new motto. If I fail . . . fail spectacularly.
He-hee, the very thought makes me giggle like a schoolgirl. What a thrill. My entire life has felt like a high-wire act attempting to balance my own nature against the desire to act, and be seen to act, wisely. My natural wish to get out and do something astonishing has always been tempered by a wish to blend; which, um . . . I never have, but 'hope springs' . . you know. The rational I think was that as long as I acted wisely and was seen to do so, how ever 'out there' the plan I'd been working on seemed to others, I would always have a safety net when I really needed it. It's in the unspoken family contract.
Now I say, what the hay.

24 July 2007

The Roses of Victory. . .Or the Smell of De Feet?

My current situation has me thinking a lot about success and failure and fear; fear of success for which there is no roadmap; or failure that is public, humiliating and makes one look foolish for having tried at all. I'm alright by the way, safely ensconced with friends in beautiful Trinity County. Getting better, getting stronger and thinking about next steps.

I've always felt there was glory in Attempt. Something beautiful and even sacred in the process of inspiration and bringing an idea into reality. But I've always held my hand . . . attempted, but without really risking enough to either succeed or fail completely. So many dreams deferred, but none ridden into the dust of defeat or soaring on the wings of victory; but always that bizarre purgatory of . . . almost or . . . eventually.

Next steps, geographically at any rate will most probably see me in Holland before the year is out, either temporarily or permanently. What next for Maya/de Bergerac . . . the kid herself? Well, if you know your cinema history that last sentence was a bit of a hint. What should be my next goal?

The only thing I know for certain is that I'm tired of whiny whimper-y half-keistered failure. The ones that make it hard put for anyone to blame me for the situation, even if they can't fully comprehend the circumstances. I'm also sick of half-stepped victory, the ones where I execute a 'unique' idea 'wisely' (French, for a watering down brilliant inspiration) and get part of what I want, but not the whole enchilada. I still look like an 'eccentric' to my more straight-laced friends without having felt either the cleansing burn of an idea going up in flames or the vindication of victory.

So for my next number, I've decided on a new motto. If I fail . . . fail spectacularly.

He-hee, the very thought makes me giggle like a schoolgirl. What a thrill. My entire life has felt like a high-wire act attempting to balance my own nature against the desire to act, and be seen to act, wisely. My natural wish to get out and do something astonishing has always been tempered by a wish to blend; which, um . . . I never have, but 'hope springs' . . you know. The rational I think was that as long as I acted wisely and was seen to do so, how ever 'out there' the plan I'd been working on seemed to others, I would always have a safety net when I really needed it. It's in the unspoken family contract.

Now I say, what the hay.

20 July 2007

Will the real General Cranky please stand up?

I live in San Francisco. I'm in San Francisco. I am living in San Francisco. Weird. I've lived twenty-five years of my not terribly big, not terribly interesting life, in one not terribly big, not terribly interesting town on the outskirts of the Bay Area. But now, I've moved to the City on the Bay, where everything is considerably larger...except for me. I am sinking like a stone to the bottom of the ocean and soon my body will collapse into itself, unable to bear the pressure of the vast, dark, deep. It's an odd feeling. You spend your life surrounded by people. The same people. That isn't what it sounds like. It's not boring, or confining or annoying. Okay...it is all of those things. But it just isn't those things. There is comfort in living your life among people who have known you all of your life. People who know your moods without explanation. Growing up in a semi-small town is a little like living in the theme song to CHEERS. However, being grown up in a semi-small town make you remember the first word of that song. "Sometimes." There comes a point when you would like to change, or would like people to notice the changes you've already made by treating you differently. But of course they don't. You're like wallpaper. They looked at you once when you were nine and haven't really taken a look to note the changes the years have wrought. Anyway, enough whining, presently, I will sort myself out. Yes, I feel a little isolated. Yes, this is a big adjustment. But yes, I'm glad I'm here and yes I love this city. And yes, soon, you'll have to watch my dust. ---dB

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16 July 2007

Heard on the Bus

I am a reasonably well brought up girl, brought up  in the suburbs with, to a large extent,  small town values. 'Please' and 'thank you' are tattooed on my DNA, and the idea of occupying (say on a bus) a seat while someone older or more infirm than myself is unthinkable. Unthinkable to a degree that I've never given the objects of courtesy much thought at all. When I thought of the elderly at all, you know, in the group sense, it was as I knew them in my own smallish burg. Quiet, well-mannered, nice, etc. But it never occurred to me to wonder, what they're like. What they are really like among themselves. What were they like when thrown together in public, at the front of a bus this one with cataracts, that one hobbling on a walker, another in a wheelchair? My role in such situations is clear, to provide assistance and get out of the way. The pecking order is clear, age and experience, 'there but for the grace of god', 'this'll be me one day' and all that. And it was that role which provided me for the first time a fly on the wall perspective of how one might behave when a member of the Silver Wing of bus riders, a club in which everyone is just as infirm as you.



So . . . absolutely, complete and utter true story:




One of my good friends and I are standing on the bus after a day of sightseeing, barely speaking. But...let's not go into that. We're standing toward the front, when it comes to a stop. A gravely voice somewhere in the direction of my right elbow comes to me. "Excuse me...excuse me," it growls. "Watch your feet." An older man wearing a baseball cap rolls into sight, attempting to maneuver his small mechanical wheelchair past the other seniors who occupy the front of the bus. "Excuse me, watch your feet," he repeats. Things are going well, well relatively well, considering the crowd on the bus. Oops, spoke to soon. "Wait a minute! Wait a minute! (Blasphemy!) (Profanity!)" A white-haired old guy with wrap around sunglasses takes a couple of aborted leaps into the air. "You're running me over! (Blasphemy!) (Profanity!)" "I said 'watch your feet." The fracas dies down as the old guy in the wheelchair manages to wedge himself into the doorway. As the bus's lift lowers him to the ground. An elderly Chinese man with a New York accent speaks up. "That chair (two syllables)--it's so big! You'd think he'd pick a smaller chair." "These schmucks in wheelchairs," the old guy with the sunglasses growls back, "most of them got no consideration at all." Aahh...welcome to San Francisco.



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03 April 2007

A Cool Site...

which is truly a work in progress. Artist Kenny Mencher blogs the daily progress of his paintings.

01 April 2007

If Still Your Orchards Bear by Edna St Vincent Millay

There are things to be said of this poem...

If Still Your Orchards Bear

Brother, that breathe the August air
Ten thousand years from now,
And smell¿if still your orchards bear
Tart apples on the bough¿

The early windfall under the tree,
And see the red fruit shine,
I cannot think your thoughts will be
Much different from mine.

Should at that moment the full moon
Step forth upon the hill,
And memories hard to bear at noon,
By moonlight harder still,
Form in the shadow of the trees, ¿
Things that you could not spare
And live, or so you thought, yet these
All gone, and you still there,

A man no longer what he was,
Nor yet the thing he'd planned,
The chilly apple from the grass
Warmed by your living hand¿

I think you will have need of tears;
I think they will not flow;
Supposing in ten thousand years
Men ache, as they do now.

30 March 2007

Something I Stumble(d) Upon

It's official people, the web is fun again. This great new...okay maybe not so new it's been around a while but new to me) program? extension? web thingy? web-thingy called StumbleUpon. It's all very technical and involved but it's a little like MySpace meets Google. Let's say you like a website...you then put a little sticky note thing (metaphorically) on it saying 'If you're at all like me and into, I dunno, cat's pajamas, boy will you love this site.' Someone comes behind you who likes cat's pajamas and has a sticky note finder thing  attached to their computer. They switch it on and lo and behold! it takes them to the cat's pajamas site you earlier recommended. There's a lot more to it than that, but you get the idea. Anyway...Yeah...What was I saying? Oh, I like StumbleUpon and you will too. Just trust that and ignore the weird and slightly disjointed description.
Oh, and I'm getting another cold. This makes Number 5 since the beginning of February. I'm goin' for the record folks. But in the mean time I StumbledUpon this really funny cat video someone put together.  

28 March 2007

Thursday Thirteen: Thirteen Things I Would Never Leave Behind


Thirteen Things I Would Never Leave Behind. In no particular order.
Oh, and books will probably be heavily represented.

1. A 1935 edition of Cyrano de Bergerac by Edmond Rostand
2. The story of my life.  An old boss and dear friend gave me a journal from Rag and Bone Bindery just before  I left them to make my first trip to Europe. They're quite lovely, handmade, acid-free paper and bound in natural materials like cork and silk. 
2. A paperback copy of Agnes Grey by Anne Bronte. There's an interesting reference in it about the dangers of thoughtless people (as in, 'she's not cruel, merely thoughtless') and it's quite a nice read. But it's special to me because I picked it up at a bookstore in Venice. The first book I'd seen that was writen in English for many weeks.
3.  My ring, which for the moment is lost. Ever have one of those items you feel some deep connection to; that no matter how many times or how far away you misplace it, it always comes back to you? I bought this silver ring from a sales rep of the now defunct Mineralore. It's silver with a gold starburst and a blue tourmaline set in the center. It was the first piece of real jewelry I ever bought.
4. My love bag. I've kept every congratulatory or loving letter or card ever sent me.  And sometimes, when times get ruff, I find comfort in reading them to remember I am loved.
5.  My notebooks. They contain my ideas and some of the best writing I've ever done. 
6. My laptop. It contains my ideas and some of the best writing I've ever done.
7. A passel of silk handkerchiefs. I love them and yes I have actually used them to blow my nose. There is no graceful way of blowing the schnoz, and I'm not a cute crier; a fluttery hanky adds a dash of drama. But mostly they're used to clean my glasses.
8. My cashmere sweater. I read somewhere that every woman should have at least one cashmere sweater and I couldn't agree more. Mine came dirt cheap from Ebay but it's so pretty and soft. It's a reminder of and hope for prettier and softer times.  
9. An antique art deco tea set from Czechoslovakia. This was also an Ebay find. When it arrived there was actually a card which said whose anniversary it was for and the year 1935. A card which I have most foolishly lost.
10. This wonderful soft knit cardigan I call my Holland sweater. I bought it as (what I thought of at the time of purchase) an inadequate replacement for one stolen by an old roommate. But it's grown on me tree-mendously since then.
12. A paperback copy of Collected Poems of Edna St. Vincent Millay. She is one of the most undersung poets of the 20th century and her work connects very deeply. This book has all of my notes and markings, including those written while reading Savage Beauty: The Life of Edna St. Vincent Millay the intimate biography written by Nancy Milford.
13. Pinkerton the feline. 
Links to other Thursday Thirteens! 1. (leave your link in comments, I¿ll add you here!)
Get the Thursday Thirteen code here!

The purpose of the meme is to get to know everyone who participates a little bit better every Thursday. Visiting fellow Thirteeners is encouraged! If you participate, leave the link to your Thirteen in others comments. It¿s easy, and fun! Be sure to update your Thirteen with links that are left for you, as well! I will link to everyone who participates and leaves a link to their 13 things. Trackbacks, pings, comment links accepted!

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A little something I wrote a while ago.

Yes. Cause love it or hate it (and there are plenty on either side of that particular fence) Oprah is Queen of America. She is certainly the most influential woman and possibly the most influential person in the United States. Personally, I go back and forth on whether to love her, hate her or forget her. But anyone who can get America reading Faulkner! and Tolstoy! forever wins a place in my heart.

The brouhaha over James Frey illustrates the peril faced by by public figures for whom the perception of the line between public persona and private become blurred. I'm talking about Professional Personalities, not actors. Feeling as though we have the right to know whether Brad Pitt prefers boxers or briefs does not make him a Professional Personality (though I do have concerns about what that feeling makes us). Pitt does not use his personal life as fodder for his public career. It's those people who come into our homes over the television screen every morning or afternoon with stories about their husbands, children, pets and what they did over the weekend, who earn the designation Professional Personality.

When the Oprah expressed her support via telephone during Frey's appearance on the Larry King show saying among other things that the 'emotional truth' was what was important. I think she was speaking for herself, the private individual who was unutterably moved by the experience of reading Frey's book; and that this assessment, gauging the book by the impact of its emotional truth is perfectly reasonable. Unfortunately, making that statement in a public forum is problematic; because she's not merely a private individual. Her Professional Personality has standards and an image associated with it that may have little to do with how she feels about herself privately. Her PP is bigger; living in corporations, brands, on the air waves and is owned by us 'we the people'. Years ago, we decided that we liked Oprah and as we do when we like people we conferred upon her certain rights and privileges and demand of her certain standards and practices. This is why it is that when she likes a book, it becomes a bestseller, when she makes a call to the Larry King Show it makes headlines. As a PP she doesn't have the luxury, as I do, of calling and expressing her private opinions without hearing from thousands of people about violations of certain of the standards and practices.

Rather like the CEO of a candy bar company sitting at his desk, happily munching a chocolate bar he's just removed from a taffy bar wrapper. He is perfectly within his rights to enjoy eating the irregulars. It's just going to get thrown away and the candy is perfectly good. What he can't do is sell these mislabeled bars to Raley's and sell them to us as taffy bars.

In Oprah's case, a person can understand her wish to withdraw the public statement of a private sentiment, without calling into question her sincerity. It's the way in which it was done. To take Frey apart on national television was an unnecessary cruelty. It isn't Frey's fault that instead of lacing her fingers in her lap, she chose to dial the Larry King Show. But for that phone call, she would not have tried clean up her public (and again, voluntary) comments, by ripping Frey a new one in front of millions of people. But once she did choose to speak up for Frey, I can't help thinking, the correct and even-handed thing would have been to make a statement on the show making her apologies to the public and retracting her words of the previous week.

As for Frey, he was drug addict, what a shock that an addict would lie. Why is everyone getting so hysterical? In fact, the only people who rival drug addicts for mendacity is the writer of an autobiography. Imagine the number of lies that have gone into memoirs of some of the most notable figures of our time. Fiction? Science fiction some of it. It is nearly impossible for any one person to tell the truth about themselves.

It's impossible not to feel for Frey. He did the back-breaking, heart-rending work of coming out the right side of addiction alive. He wrote a book. When he wrote it, there is no way he could have imagined his life or his 'life' would end up under such an enormous microscope. According to some reports he first submitted his manuscript to publishers as a work of fiction and had it rejected, he then resubmitted as a memoir without changing anything, and Doubleday chose to publish. Whose fault is that? My opinion...Frey might be cashing a check, but he's also taking most of the fire. Considering the many demons he already wrestles with...well let's just say many a man has been broken by far less. The only one who really makes out in this fire storm is the publisher...they are laughing all the way to the bank.

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27 March 2007

What I'm Reading Now

So I just finished this book called A Way Through The Wood. It's by a guy named Nigel Balchin about . . .Gosh, that's a tough one. I want to say it's about the unraveling of a marriage, but there's a lot more to it than that. It's about conscience and the manner in which we are human. It's beautiful, complicated and a page-turner.

It was recently made into a film starring Tom Wilkinson, Emily Watson and Rupert Everett (if you read the book, you'll know that no one but Everett could play the character of Bule)called Seperate Lies. I haven't seen the movie and probably won't. The book has left me plenty satisfied. It might be difficult to find, but I definitely recommend making the effort.


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26 March 2007

Seriously....can we talk about how much I hate that song? Why is it then, that I can't get the song out of my head? Not even the version generally acknowledged to be a classic;  but the nightmarish American Idol version sung by one of those turkeys from the 'Worst of the Worst' show.

I shot the sher-i-i-iff...but I did not shoot the de-pu-teeee....

Lud.

 Am I in hell?



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24 March 2007

Drumroll Please

Da-da-ta-TUM. Okay. So I can't actually do a drumroll. Whatever the point...the point my friends is that I'd like to welcome to the blog our intrepid hero, Air Force guy and Bakery author...dramatic pause...Eric Pardue! He's currently travelig through Eastern Europe. At least that's what I think he said when he called me last night at 3am.
Yes, three people. With a capital 'THR'. That MySpace is a ruddy ankle bracelet. Or maybe I mean a beacon or tracking device or something? It's something I never really considered before because Marissa has always done our MySpace-ing in the past. It occurs to me that being signed in is a great way of signalling the state of your life (or lack thereof) to several hundred of your new (and old)best friends. I kid...I kid Eric. 'Cause, well that's my job; or one of the perks of my job anyway. 
What was I saying?
Oh yeah. Mr. Pardue, Skyped me early this morning in order that we could enact his brilliant plan for lettting you guys get to know him by chronicling thoughts and exploits from the road of his latest trip. So please, my friends, enjoy The Travel Journals of Eric Pardue. And let me tell in the wee small hours of the morning, seeing these go up onto the blog was much, much better than counting sheep.

Happy Friday

Happy Friday All!!! Heh. Okay. That was fun.  Now on to the good stuff......................... And there we have a problem. I'm afraid today's is a post of all flash and no substance. Come to think of it, not that much flash either. Sorry guys, I'm pretty out of it, this cold is kicking my behind. 
I've been watching Raines, the new show with Jeff Goldblum. Imagine my delight to have a date with Goldblum every week, there is no such thing as too much of him as far as I'm concerned. Watching the pilot marked the continuation of an encouraging trend for viewing public. 
 What eerie trend is that? That of heavy talents...sheesh, Hollywood-speak. I'll say it; artists on hiatus from moviemaking are playing on a blue box near you. Writers like Aaron Sorkin (Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip), David Mamet (The Unit), Paul Haggis and Bobby Moresco (The Black Donnellys); actors like Sally Field, Minnie Driver and yes, Jeff Goldblum.
And now, directors. Imagine my surprise when to find Frank Darabont's name in the credits of the aired pilot of Raines. Yes, Frank Darabont that Frank Darabont, of Shawshank Redemption and Green Mile fame. He also directed a beautiful little film starring Jim Carrey called The Majestic.
Does this mean television is getting better? I don't know about that. There seems to be a Taj Mahal/Streets of Calcutta dynamic going on. There seems to be less middle ground in quality than there was ten or fifteen years ago. There was plenty of mediocre TV, don't get me wrong; and I don't know that there was more or better good TV.  But it does feel as if there were more fair to middlin' shows and much less that was truly objectionable. Um, Simple Life anyone? Throw a dart and hit just about any reality show currently on the air to find another example.
TV is much better for people like me than it has been in a long time. I love turning on the tube to watch Field or Goldblum work. I love  knowing without seeing the credits; like recognizing the style of a composer, that Mamet penned this week's episode of The Unit. Now if we could only get a Zwick/Herskovitz offering back on the air, then I'll know true happiness.         


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23 March 2007

I. Hate. Everybody.

So I have a cold right now and you all know what that means...I. Hate. Everybody. There's this fabulous list that The Sophisticated Writer came up with, number 6 is my personal favorite. In my current state of mind I would indeed like breathe on all the people who've ever really ticked me off. I'm nothing if not generous. Soph and some other bloggers have a tradition called the Thursday Thirteen, which is basically exactly what it sounds like. So . . . this Thursday I'm writing my own list. And I'm calling it:



#1
Thirteen Persons/Entities With Whom I'd Like to Share My Cold
1. The people who killed the electric car. I remember seeing the ads and being excited about the prospect of having an EV one day soon. Did you know that GM has crushed almost all of their electric cars? They revoked the leases of the owners once they and their pals managed to get California's emissions law quashed. Even threatened them with legal action if they refused to turn the cars over. Though protesters (many of whom were formerly EV drivers) offered 1.9 million dollars for the remaining 78 cars, GM took took them off to be crushed anyway. I'd no idea. Great movie: Who Killed the Electric Car?
2. My doctor; because he's been absolutely clueless about my illness. Going to see him means two hours of misery plus three days of recovery for 15 minutes of conversation, during which he never even looks me in the eye.
3. Buena Vista for not releasing the third season of Once and Again to DVD. Still.

4. Whoever it was that decided to change Popular from the truly sensitive and funny comedy-drama of the first few episodes into the bizarro plastic teen dark comedy that I really want to stop watching.

5. Telemarketing companies who call and then put me on hold.

6. Parents in grocery stores who force me to listen to them tell their kids, 'This is the last time I'm going to tell you.' . . . Ten times.

7. Movie critics who love the sight of their own words more than they do movies.

8. Film actors who are ignorant of their film history. Brad Pitt...this means you and well, almost every UPN 'actor' ever to tread a soundstage.

9. My upstairs neighbor who seems to enjoy moving furniture while having a party at 2 am.

10. People who drive slow in the fast lane.

11. People who drive fast in the slow lane.

12. People who always always bring the conversation back to themselves. 'You have cancer?! Wow that's awful. You know my neighbors' dog had cancer and they were simply devastated, I actually watched their three-year old when they took it to the vet to be put to sleep. Amazing, isn't it?'

13. Anyone who says, "To make a long story short . . . " 'Cause by the time they do it's always too late. And really . . .we're talking. . .I've got the time to listen.
Links to other Thursday Thirteens! (leave your link in comments, I¿ll add you here!)
Get the Thursday Thirteen code here!

The purpose of the meme is to get to know everyone who participates a little bit better every Thursday. Visiting fellow Thirteeners is encouraged! If you participate, leave the link to your Thirteen in others comments. It¿s easy, and fun! Be sure to update your Thirteen with links that are left for you, as well! I will link to everyone who participates and leaves a link to their 13 things. Trackbacks, pings, comment links accepted!




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22 March 2007

The Curse Is Upon Me...

. . .yet again. I truly believe that some people are water-dwellers and others are not. In tonight's whimsical state of mind, I feel salt-water in my veins,crying out for the sea.  Edna St. Vincent Millay proves that I'm not alone in this feeling. But how does it happen? Why do some feel an affinity for the ocean that stays with them all their lives? Who knows how it really happens. Is it about growing up near water?  I didn't really grow up near water. I've spent most of my life living on the very outskirts of the Bay Area.
Perhaps the craving for salt air is the result of an earlier imprint. Birth? I was born in the Phillipines, an entire nation of islands. DNA? Perhaps the memory of being lulled by the rock of a boat or by crashing waves is genetic. My grandmother's were Island people from as far back as we know. Deeper? The Irish and Scots blood flowing like a current from both sides of the family tree? Were our other ancestors from a coastal or island region of Africa?

Who know's? It's all mystery. And one day I'll solve it. Until then, it's enough not to be alone in the feeling. Edna has her finger on my pulse tonight:
Exiled

SEARCHING my heart for its true sorrow,
  This is the thing I find to be:
That I am weary of words and people,
  Sick of the city, wanting the sea;
Wanting the sticky, salty sweetness         5
  Of the strong wind and shattered spray,
Wanting the loud sound and the soft sound
  Of the big surf that breaks all day.
Always before about my dooryard,
  Marking the reach of the winter sea,         10
Rooted in sand and dragging driftwood,
  Straggled the purple wild sweet pea.
Always I climbed the wave at morning,
  Shook the sand from my shoes at night,
That now am caught beneath big buildings,         15
  Stricken with noise, confused with light.
If I could hear the green piles groaning.
  Under the windy, wooden piers,
See once again the bobbing barrels,
  And the black sticks that fence the weirs;         20
If I could see the weedy mussels
  Crusting the wrecked and rotting hulls,
Hear once again the hungry crying
  Overhead, of the wheeling gulls;
Feel once again the shanty straining         25
  Under the turning of the tide,
Fear once again the rising freshet,
  Dread the bell in the fog outside,
I should be happy!¿that was happy
  All day long on the coast of Maine.         30
I have a need to hold and handle
  Shells and anchors and ships again.
I should be happy, that am happy.
  Never at all since I came here.
I am too long away from water;         35
  I have a need of water near.

  
Ainslee¿s Magazine


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21 March 2007

So I took the Matrix Persona Quiz..

I openly admit to being a quiz junkie. I know IknowIknow most online quizzes are junk themselves. But I can't help it, it's the teacher's pet reflex coming back to haunt me. Or maybe, it's just that I like answers. Whenever life gets annoying or I'm working a puzzle, I find some comfort in going to one of those quiz pages and and answering my brains out. I ran across this one a while ago and took it again today. The first result was Morpheus as you can see.




You are Morpheus-
You are Morpheus, from "The Matrix." You
have strong faith in yourself and those around
you. A true leader, you are relentless in your
pursuit.

What Matrix Persona Are You?
brought to you by Quizilla
Tonight...well I was a bit dry and needed something to post (you know, the whole 30 in 30 thing)so I hunted down the poll and took it again, thinking to show off my Morpheus-ness to you guys.  But this was the result:
What Matrix Persona Are You?

You are The Oracle, from "The Matrix." Wise, kind, honest- is there anything slightly negative about you? You are genuinely supportive of others. Careful not to let people take advantage of you, though.
Take this quiz!

Quizilla | Join | Make A Quiz | More Quizzes | Grab Code


 Huh. Wonder what that means? 


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18 March 2007

AFI? Schm-AFI...We'll Make Our Own List

As an upstart movie snob I of course take severe issue with the AFI's Top 100 Movies of the last century. They are, in my opinion either insane or deluded. Okay...and so am I...maybe...a little bit.
The point is that movie-watching is an incredibly personal experience, I'm less interested in the what than in the why.  Artists especially are deeply infuenced by film, or perhaps are merely able to do a better job of articulating the whys and wherefores for everyone else. At any rate, I'm starting a list and would love to know what you think.
What, are the five most important films in your film-watchin' career and why? 
I'm starting the list with my top 5, in no particular order.
Bringing Up Baby (1938, Howard Hawks)
Night of the Hunter (1955, Charles Laughton)
The Browning Version (1951, Anthoy Asquith)
Tango (1998, Carlos Saura)
All About Eve (1950, Joseph L. Mankiewicz)
These five films have had the greatest (I'm pretty sure about this) impact on my career as a film buff. Seeing each one changed something in the way I watched movies forever after. 
Howard Hawk's Bringing Up Baby was my introduction to the world of the screwball comedy. I'd no idea it was possible to laugh so much during a movie that didn't involve  bodily function humor.
My brother and I saw Laughton's Night of the Hunter one afternoon when we were supposed to be doing our homework. I think it came on like, A&E, when they used to show classic films. I had literally never been so frightened in the middle of the day. That began my love affair with thrillers in black and white.
The Browning Versionis a film I saw more recently. I'd heard of it of course, but had only the vaguest idea of it's existence. I don't remember now why I Netflix'd it, only that it blew me away. On the surface, it is a film in which very little happens but just under the surface, plays a tragedy of Shakespearean proportions. I've always been fascinated by the ability of the movies to show us two completely opposite realities at once. Asquith's The Browning Version is a defining example.
 Seriously, I've had musicals on the brain since early childhood but until Tango, I never knew the power a musical film can exert. Saura's Tango tells complicated stories, a private story of memory and regret,a human one of tyranny and oppression. The film is beautifully shot by Il Maestro, Vittorio Storaro and  uses the Argentine Tango as most peope have never seen it, as its narrator.
All About Eve? Bette Davis, 'nough said.
But of course, I'm gonna say more. This is the movie that helped me fall in love with the theatre (spelled 're' please darlings) and the idea of acting. 

17 March 2007

Yes I KNOW I Wimped Out

30 in 30. Ha! Yes,yes I know. My resolve held for two whole days. I do however, have an excellent excuse. I forgot and then fell asleep. So now we begin again. 30 posts in thirty days starting from yesterday. But enough recriminations.
BakerySL is up and running. Twice artists and arts sympathizers gather around a virtual fire and share our thoughts, argue and dream under virtual stars. We talk about the nature of art, the role of the artist in society, the corrupting and necessary influence of commerce and sometimes we just talk about movies. It's an amazing experience. Health and geography have isolated me from my idealist brethren, at least physically. But technology has made it possible for us to commune 'face to face'. A few nights ago we talked about popular culture and whether mass popularity/mass marketing and artistic integrity were incompatible.
The general consensus was, well, mixed. Some said that art done with the wish to make money was no art at all. Others said that it there was nothing wrong with creating with one eye on marketability as long as one doesn't compromise one's vision.
Truth to tell, my own thoughts on the matter are decidedly mixed. I believe that public opinion is a succubus that can suck creativity from the soul and skew one's view of one's work. Ever notice what happens when an artist becomes really popular? Take as an example, my love-hate-love relationship with the talent of  Leo Di Caprio. He is talent as an actor is undeniable and yet, for a little while, his ego outstripped his talent. After Kate Winslet carried him through Titanic (don't get me wrong, he was good, but no where near as good as the howling estrogen-laden masses seemed to think)he turned in a few performances that were smug,even lazy. 'Everyone' thought he was great, therefore he was  great...full stop. His ability to self-edit, suffered.
Whether an artist becomes famous and begins to bring thoughts of his press clippings into his creative process; or whether she craves more attention than the work is getting and brings that need to be noticed into her process; it hurts the work. Having other people in your head makes it hard to sit down with you and your creative core and say, 'yes this part here, does what I need/want it to do, but this part doesnt.'
Don't get me wrong, an artist needs confidence. The only way to stand before a canvas or sit down before a blank sheet of paper and create anything of worth, is to believe that you can. To in fact, somewhere inside you, have the belief that you are the only one who can communicate a certain, thought or idea or emotion in this specific way. There is plenty of time for doubt and self-hatred--before you sit down or after you stand up.  But in the moment of creation there is none.
On the other hand, a girl's gotta eat. If no one is buying her work she's not eating, or she's working at a sucky day job and painting at night. Or she's cobbling together a few less sucky jobs to support herself and her work. Which eventually begins to suffer. Creative energy is just that, energy. There's only so much of it that can be drained away by nothing jobs (or even a really great non-art job, which in my experience, can have an even greater impact on one's creative energy bank)before the the work starts to suffer.
I don't think one should have to choose between one's art and the ability to make a living. I don't believe one has to. There's a lot of greed at the top which is making life unnecessarily difficult for the artist on the ground. The longer I work on Bakery, the more I'm amazed by the amount of greed involved and the basic unfairness-es under which artists struggle to support themselves.

And that is of course, why I do what I do.

14 March 2007

One of the biggest challenges our artist support project has faced is finding a way for artists and friends to get face time with us and each other. BotP has international aspirations (we have artist friends in Italy, Ireland, Canada and Costa Rica) and I've always wanted us to be a moveable feast. We rely heavily on technology to communicate with volunteers and the artists we serve. Which is great for keeping costs low and maintaining our flexibility. It does, however, make it difficult to gather everyone around the fireplace, so to speak. Our artists can't really drop by for a casual chat and we've missed out on the electric energy that is created during those spontaneous 'jam sessions' of creative minds. Second Life created by Linden Labs has changed all of that.
Second Life is a virtual world which allows people to interact on many levels, business, social, entertainment and much more. It is a phenomenon which has become an epidemic. When I signed on in late August to see what it was all about, the number of accounts was buzzing somewhere around 650,000 and people were talking about whether or not SL accounts would hit the big 1mil by year's end. That happened in October, and last week the number of Second Life accounts topped 2.2 million. Corporate America is sitting up and taking notice; Sun Microsystems, Dell, NBC and MTV, to name a few, have all created places in SL. And now, so has Bakery of the Poets.
Artists will be able to come over and hang out to talk shop or just talk. We will have book readings (including one from our new author Eric Pardue) concerts and art shows. Our first building is nearly finished and should open sometime next week. To check out SL and BotP's virtual progress sign on at: http//www.secondlife.com

Btw: The SL learning curve is a bit steep (but like most things, it's easy when you know how), feel free to email me before signing on. We can arrange to meet in-world and I'll show the ropes.:)

13 March 2007

The Ol' One-Two. Or a little something I like to call; 'Thirty in Thirty'. Or why Wil Wheaton is ruining my life

So I'm a fan of Wil Wheaton's blog. It was required reading for a loooong time. Then I lost track for a while, went through a time of no computer and then he went through a period of no blog, ships passing in the night. Anyway, I started reading again yesterday. My timing could not have been worse.  Sadly, for me I can never resist a challenge whether it's a book meme or a challenge to do thirty posts in thirty days. Suffice it to say, right now I hate everybody.  Hah! Didja miss me? Ready? Well, here we go.

12 March 2007

How Many Books Have You Read? Book Mem

I was minding my own business innocently reading Sophisticated Writer's blog when I stumbled on this little landmine. And a very seductive and irresistible landmine it is too. If you have a blog leave me a comment with the link and I'll come over to commiserate on being captured by yet another almighty meme...and ridicule your reading choices, of course.

How Many Have You Read?

*Look at the list of books below.
*Bold the ones you've read.
*Italicize the ones you want to read.
*leave same the ones that you ardent interested in.
*If you are reading this, tag you're reading it.

1. The Da Vinci Code (Dan Brown)
2. Pride and Prejudice (Jane Austen)
3. To Kill A Mockingbird (Harper Lee)
4. Gone With The Wind (Margaret Mitchell)
5. The Lord of the Rings: Return of the King (Tolkien)
6. The Lord of the Rings: Fellowship of the Ring (Tolkien)
7. The Lord of the Rings: Two Towers (Tolkien)
8. Anne of Green Gables (L.M. Montgomery)
9. Outlander (Diana Gabaldon)
10. A Fine Balance (Rohinton Mistry)
11. Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire (Rowling)
12. Angels and Demons (Dan Brown)
13. Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix (Rowling)
14. A Prayer for Owen Meany (John Irving)
15. Memoirs of a Geisha (Arthur Golden)
16. Harry Potter and the Philosopher¿s Stone (Rowling)
17. Fall on Your Knees (Ann-Marie MacDonald)
18. The Stand (Stephen King)
19. Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban (Rowling)
20. Jane Eyre (Charlotte Bronte (Only my favorite book of (practically) all time. I actually blogged about it once.)
21. The Hobbit (Tolkien)
22. The Catcher in the Rye (J.D. Salinger)
23. Little Women (Louisa May Alcott)
24. The Lovely Bones (Alice Sebold)
25. Life of Pi (Yann Martel)
26. The Hitchhiker¿s Guide to the Galaxy (Douglas Adams)
27. Wuthering Heights (Emily Bronte) (A book I found intensely irritating. Could Catherin have been more of a twit?)
28. The Lion, The Witch and the Wardrobe (C. S. Lewis)
29. East of Eden (John Steinbeck)
30. Tuesdays with Morrie(Mitch Albom)
31. Dune (Frank Herbert)
32. The Notebook (Nicholas Sparks)
33. Atlas Shrugged (Ayn Rand)
34. 1984 (Orwell)
35. The Mists of Avalon (Marion Zimmer Bradley)
36. The Pillars of the Earth (Ken Follett)
37. The Power of One (Bryce Courtenay)
38. I Know This Much is True (Wally Lamb)
39. The Red Tent (Anita Diamant)
40. The Alchemist (Paulo Coelho)
41. The Clan of the Cave Bear (Jean M. Auel)
42. The Kite Runner (Khaled Hosseini)
43. Confessions of a Shopaholic (Sophie Kinsella) (Sophi is not in love with this series, I didn't even know there was one, but I did enjoy it for what it was; Brit Chick Lit, which is for some reason cooler than its American cousin)
44. The Five People You Meet In Heaven (Mitch Albom)
45. Bible
46. Anna Karenina (Tolstoy) (my favorite novel ever!)
47. The Count of Monte Cristo (Alexandre Dumas)
48. Angela¿s Ashes (Frank McCourt)
49. The Grapes of Wrath (John Steinbeck)
50. She¿s Come Undone (Wally Lamb)
51. The Poisonwood Bible (Barbara Kingsolver)
52. A Tale of Two Cities (Dickens)
53. Ender¿s Game (Orson Scott Card)(Loved this book, loved this series, love OSC)
54. Great Expectations (Dickens)
55. The Great Gatsby (Fitzgerald)
56. The Stone Angel (Margaret Laurence)
57. Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets (Rowling)
58. The Thorn Birds (Colleen McCullough)
59. The Handmaid¿s Tale (Margaret Atwood)(Grrrr...Margaret Atwood. She's like a bad ex-boyfriend I find her novels enormously frustrating, and yet I can't stop reading and each time I read one I swear its the last.)
60. The Time Traveller¿s Wife (Audrey Niffenegger)
61. Crime and Punishment (Fyodor Dostoyevsky)
62. The Fountainhead (Ayn Rand)
63. War and Peace (Tolstoy)
64. Interview With The Vampire (Anne Rice)
65. Fifth Business (Robertson Davis)
66. One Hundred Years Of Solitude (Gabriel Garcia Marquez)
67. The Sisterhood of the Travelling Pants (Ann Brashares)
68. Catch-22 (Joseph Heller)
69. Les Miserables (Hugo)
70. The Little Prince (Antoine de Saint-Exupery)
71. Bridget Jones¿ Diary (Fielding)
72. Love in the Time of Cholera (Marquez)
73. Shogun (James Clavell)
74. The English Patient (Michael Ondaatje)
75. The Secret Garden (Frances Hodgson Burnett)
76. The Summer Tree (Guy Gavriel Kay)
77. A Tree Grows in Brooklyn (Betty Smith)
78. The World According To Garp (John Irving)
79. The Diviners (Margaret Laurence)
80. Charlotte¿s Web (E.B. White)
81. Not Wanted On The Voyage (Timothy Findley)
82. Of Mice And Men (Steinbeck)
83. Rebecca (Daphne DuMaurier)
84. Wizard¿s First Rule (Terry Goodkind)
85. Emma (Jane Austen)
86. Watership Down (Richard Adams)
87. Brave New World (Aldous Huxley)
88. The Stone Diaries (Carol Shields)
89. Blindness (Jose Saramago)
90. Kane and Abel (Jeffrey Archer)(I tried, what can I say? But I do think Archer is the master of the short story.)
91. In The Skin Of A Lion (Ondaatje)
92. Lord of the Flies (Golding)
93. The Good Earth (Pearl S. Buck)
94. The Secret Life of Bees (Sue Monk Kidd)
95. The Bourne Identity (Robert Ludlum)
96. The Outsiders (S.E. Hinton)
97. White Oleander (Janet Fitch)
98. A Woman of Substance (Barbara Taylor Bradford)
99. The Celestine Prophecy (James Redfield)
100. Ulysses (James Joyce)

10 March 2007

It's Amazing What $5 Can Do

Bakery's $5 Fundraiser!

Hello Bakery Friends,
We're working on making the Bakery webzine one of the best literary arts and culture publications on or off the net and we could really use your help. You know my dear friends I am all enthusiasm and fire, but these sadly, do not pay for the lights, the website, broadband and other services which help keep Bakery going and growing. Neither do they pay our wonderful and hard-working writers and so now I come to you; you who have been so encouraging and helpful to Bakery in the past and ask you once again to open your hearts (and your wallets) to give the Bakery a little boost.

Just $5

Five dollars is not a lot of money, nowadays it barely buys a gallon of gas. Five dollars is less than the cost of a movie ticket or an 'Extra Value' meal at a fast food joint. But, what if we multiply that by 600? With a $5 donation from 600 people Bakery can do an awful lot. If 600 generous souls give $5, the resulting windfall will pay Bakery's operating expenses for 3 months, allow the Bakery to reserve spaces for 3 writers to attend workshops given by The Writing Salon, including one taught by former US poet laureate Billy Collins and pay for editing, development and other expenses related to putting Single Servings in print! Giving a great start to the career of a wonderful new writer, and allowing Bakery to give other writers, painters, musicians, sculptors and poets opportunities for education, inspiration and career development. A glorious snowball effect that makes the Bakery's mission possible; to help create artists .

Give and Forward

So please go to our page on Fractured Atlas' (our fiscal sponsor's ) website and make a tax-deductible gift of $5, you can even give monthly! I know that a few of you rock stars out there would love to contribute regularly, well now you can set up an automatically recurring monthly gift. Whether or not you choose to give at this time, please help Bakery's mission by forwarding this message to 2 art lovers whom you know would like to be a part of helping a writer get into print. Come on let's start a tidal wave that will sweep a promising writer's book into bookstores and begin a cycle that will benefit artists for years to come!

Thank you all for your good wishes and unstinting support during the past few years. I can't wait to see what 2007 holds for you, for Bakery and for artists everywhere. Be well my my dear friends.

Warmly,

Maya Jewell
Founder, Bakery of the Poets
http://bakeryofthepoets.org
707.416.0868

Bakery of the Poets is a sponsored project of Fractured Atlas, a non-profit arts service organization. Contributions in behalf of Bakery of the Poets maybe made payable to Fractured Atlas and are tax-deductible to the extent permitted by law

23 February 2007

Over The Rainbow; But Not If I Have To Go With That Dorothy Girl

Am I the only person, who when the Munchkins sang Ding, Dong, The Witch Is Dead, felt a little sorry for the witch?

It's just that I can recall as a child watching the Wizard of Oz for the first time; and feeling it unseemly (yes, 'unseemly', I didn't know the word at the time but looking back I recognize the sentiment. I was a four year old maiden aunt.) to celebrate anyone's death so tunefully. Then I began to think on how lonely the witch must have been if an entire land of people, even if they were very small, were so happy to see her die they burst into extemporaneous and dare I say, award-worthy song. And that perhaps if she had not been so lonely she would not have been so bad. Thus spake the thoughts of an infant Maya; she and Dorothy, forever out of tune.

29 January 2007

Bakery of the Poets: The story behind the name

It occurs to me after all this time, that I've never told the story of Bakery of the Poets; or rather the story behind our name. My favorite literary work of all time is Cyrano de Bergerac. Rostand's play is a work of great humor, artistry and love and his hero...truly heroic. Cyrano is big in every way; not just his nose but his heart, his courage, his idealism and his creativity; are all of epic proportions. I love and adore this character. But I admit that I don¿t much identify with him. Yes, in that deep part that is my creative spirit; bold, unfettered, idealistic beyond belief, we are kindred. But as a character or a person...let's face it, he needs a keeper. He seems to careen from one catastrophe to another with unparalleled style and verve.
My own particular style is not conducive to catastrophe; has, in fact, more to do with catastrophe-avoidance than catastrophe-seeking. The character with whom I identify most is Ragueneau; pastry chef, poet (in a small way) art and artist lover; owner of a cafe identified simply as Bakery of the Poets. His love for artists prompts him to allow perennially impoverished scribblers and sketchers to exchange their work for food and wine (a habit which drives his bottom line-watching wife mad) his own poetry, he uses to wrap the bakery goodies he sells. Bakery of the Poets is a gathering place for artists and an artist-watching place for the nobility, the intellectuals and the ordinary citizens who find them fascinating. In Rostand's Bakery of the Poets artists fill their bellies, socialize, fight and find patrons and discuss the big ideas.
Once I really decided to do my part to help artists, the creation of a Bakery of the Poets for the modern age came very naturally. We are using technology to create a place where artists can find all kinds of support; 'bread' for their labors, people who nurture their talent, the encouragement and society of other artists. BotP is a forum in which they are published or promoted, helping artists find new audiences and patrons for their work. We want to give them the support they need to do their work and in that way help create artists. During 2006 we reached our tipping point where making progress no longer feels like pushing a boulder up hill. And with your support, 2007 promises to be a banner year for BotP and artists everywhere. On to the news.

17 January 2007

Author! Author!

We have one!! Bakery of the Poets is publishing a novel by first time author Eric Pardue. His book is based on his own experiences as an Air Force sergeant who travels through Northern Europe while recovering from a traumatic divorce (Ever been married in a foreign country? Try having an ugly divorce in one). Interspersed with tales accommodation adventures, quirky travel companions and eccentric locals, is a beautiful and evocative examination into the nature of travel itself and its power to rebuild the human spirit.
We are committed to discovering and nurturing new literary talent and are pleased to welcome Eric as our first novelist. There is a limited opportunity for BotP donors to become a part of this writer's success. All donations will be acknowledged at the appropriate donation level. However, major donors toward this special project receive partial publication credit and/or acknowledgments in the front of the book, as well as pre-publication excerpts and updates from the author and a signed copy of the completed novel. To donate up to $1000.00 online please go to our Fractured Atlas donation page. To make a donation over $1000.00 or for more information please contact Darya at: giving@bakeryofthepoets.org.
Bakery of the Poets is a sponsored project of Fractured Atlas, a non-profit arts service organization. Contributions in behalf of Bakery of the Poets maybe made payable to Fractured Atlas and are tax-deductible to the extent permitted by law.

02 January 2007

Rising Starr

Tomorrow Sean Starr celebrates the launch of his book!
MORRISSEY RUINED MY LIFE SHOW IN SF
Sean Starr will paint live to the music of The Smiths and Morrissey at the Workspace Gallery in San Francisco Saturday, February 3, 2007.

Colin Nasseri, co-author of "You, Me and Morrissey" will also be present to sign copies of the book.

Sean's "Morrissey" Series pieces will be on display at the gallery.

More details soon. Show sponsored by IFUC
.

Writer Colin Nasseri and Painter Sean Starr's book You, Me and Morrissey will soon be released. The book chronicles the influence the music of The Smiths and Morrissey had on the lives of two young men as one became a writer and the other a painter. Sean is a tremendous friend to Bakery of the Poets and we couldn't be happier for his continued success. Sean's next book will contain artwork from his series based on the play by Edmond Rostand, Cyrano de Bergerac. His work always connects with me on a deep level. The Morrissey collection is astounding, his Coupling series truly fascinating Check out Kurt and Courtney or Morrissey and Marr. The 10 Muses was my true introduction to his work and will always be my favorite...or so I thought.
The Cyrano paintings are unutterably moving. My pre-Starr de Bergerac conditioning plays a factor no doubt, giving me a particular perspective. Sean has managed to capture the spirit of the characters and adds to it something that is almost an artistic communion or collaboration with Rostand's overriding theme. He manages to stay true to the play, and in addition, to say something about the artistic condition and the energy of idealism.
Okay, so obviously, I'm a fan. Here's a fun story: BotP provided a small spark of his inspiration for these paintings. He had recently completed a series based on Shakespeare's A Midsummer Night's Dream and was researching possibilities for his next. While corresponding about Bakery of the Poets' website (which Sean is redesigning) he learned the story behind our name and decided to give Rostand's play another look. The rest, as they say...The book based on the Cyrano series is due out in '07 with a preface by yours truly. You have the opportunity of owning some of the artwork before the book is published. Check out Sean Starr's website for the de Bergerac paintings and other works.