spreading the love for '09...

Funky Kingston - Toots and the Maytals

The best gift ever.

And now I share it with you.
Thank you Adam, I'm crying on Christmas eve.
David Attenborough as Santa Claus:

the lyre bird

sheets of ice.

Then there was snow. This was a very mysterious phenomenon to arrive home to yesterday. It mostly looks like a potential lawsuit now that I have tenants. The runaways we call them. Matt, the boy half, is a volunteer firefighter across the street so maybe he will save the day before anyone is decapitated. The blacksmith says that it will sound like the subway is going by when the temperature changes since the sheets will likely crash in tandem.

Ice Storm

Talking about the weather is not small talk when you live in the country. The weather defines physical and mental economies much more directly in a rural landscape. Basically, the weather determines what is in the field which then defines the kind of activity taking place on the roads and at home in the kitchen.
Over the past year my personal relationships with friends and family may have been tested by distance, but I have definitely developed a more intimate relationship with the weather since moving to the country. It is easy to see how ice storms and swingers mingle.

"CITRUS SHOCKER"

My little sister is the most dedicated, wise, insightful, generous and intelligent woman I know. Despite her movie star good looks (no resemblance), she is also the LEAST likely subject for the gossip pages of the New York Post:



December 7, 2008 --

IF you love orange juice, stop reading now! In her upcoming book, "Squeezed," Alissa Hamilton bares some of the less-appetizing secrets behind the breakfast favorite, including revelations that "most orange juice comes from Brazil, not Florida," and that even " 'not from concentrate' juice is heated, stripped of flavor, stored for up to a year and then reflavored before it's packaged and sold." The citrus shocker from Yale University Press hits stores in May.

SQUEEZED - Yale University Press

also seen on my morning run...not in chelsea

In my backyard quarry where the coyote was spotted, we recently stumbled on a graveyard of California redwood roots.
I can only hope these are not the remnants of some kind of experimental underground (sorry) currency.

Yes we did!!!

wild coyote

photo courtesy of NYS Dept. of Environmental Conservation

Seen on my morning run. A good sign I think, I named him Obama.

Nada Nader

Nader seems to have lost his voice. Here he is trying to explain it to us in a tiny Quaker house in New Paltz. Apparently no one wants to talk (or listen) to him which seems rather unfortunate since he has plenty interesting to say. In recent years Nader may have single handedly given the independence cause a face...while simultaneously defacing it. Some press guy in the audience asked what kind of personal responsibility Nader was willing to take for the war. The poor crazy guy was nearly tarred and feathered right there in a Quaker sacred place. "This is what I get in New Paltz???" Nader responded. Apparently upstate New York has consistently been his best support in the whole country. "Gore won that election, period." he continued. As Nader humbly pointed out, Obama likely will have at least a 24pt lead in NY so we can safely vote our conscience here. The thing is, Obama could be truer to his principles if there were another party with a face. What is clean coal anyway?

hearts still afield...

glad I have a passport...a Canadian one

If she becomes VP

Blog Action Day for Poverty.

"Poverty" was so 80's. Live Aid really hit home since it was the first year I was buying my own groceries. Wow, I can't believe I just said that. But isn't that just the (North) American way? Except that on a national scale awareness usually happens in reverse, when the western economy is good the guilt kicks in. Now what? I don't think we are thinking Ethiopia when we say "Poverty" today. My architect/farmer/carpenter neighbor is "desperate" for work. I can't hire him to help me bring the Creamery up to code until I figure out how to pay my property tax. And my health insurance. And my various oil bills. Listen, I am not claiming poverty, not yet. But I am considering hoarding some of the scrap gold left over from the crown set. The band boys may not find pharmaceuticals stored in that hatch out front, but they might find gold. Sarah Palin says it is bourgeois to study abroad (or carry a passport?). So walk or take the bus, Greyhound or Metro, if you want to study "Poverty" up close.



P.S. My local naturalist says the squirrels are also skinny this year so I put a few locals in my budget plan...they are easier to feed than Alanzo (the carpenter neighbor) who still weighs a good 240 I'd say.

hearts afield...

Whoever conceived of this die hard romance, thank you. Each day it is a deeper red and a perfect gauge. I dread the winter version.

Shaman

Algerville has a blacksmith. He is also my shaman. One needs a shaman when one lives in the country.

the band is back.

This time fully enjoying cozy corners.

"cozy corners."

I nearly got kicked out of architecture school for questioning the likes of Christopher Alexander and his manifesto of modular coziness. My teachers were his students. Christopher Alexander wrote a text called Pattern Language which defines a series of architectural moments meant to be pieced together to create universal 'comfort'. I always questioned the arrogance of attempting to define my experience in such a specific and dogmatic way. Architecture is arrogant by nature but this 'style' was created under the pretense of being completely democratic, nuts and berries style. In my (somewhat) humble opinion, corners clad in wood with six foot ceilings were a righteous and potentially dangerous interpretation of democracy. Twenty six foot ceilings and white walls leave much more space for negotiation. So much space that I have nearly lost friends in my living room. "Do you have something against comfortable chairs?". Just to prove my friends wrong, and to be able to invite them for tea, I have worked on this corner. Maybe I learned a thing or two from Chris after all.

Eat your beans.

Just don't take them for granted. I decided to work for my dinner tonight, just to make sure I am fully appreciating the effort behind the ingredients before they are refried. When I asked Ralf Swenson Jr. what needed to be done around the place he didn't hesitate. The black beans were an experiment and they needed to be harvested a.s.a.p. When I was given a tiny container I thought maybe Ralf Sr. was mocking me. He said it would hold a pound. That quart of beans took me over an hour to pick and shell, and I didn't move a foot. My hourly rate is generally pretty high, I am treating these beans better than I do my stash of scrap gold.

Canadians also swim.

Despite popular myth, we Canadians are not born with an extra layer of insulation. Cold is cold. It is the end of the season but my visiting family still braved the chilly water.
I would like to keep this new spot quiet for special guests, hopefully these rocks aren't too recognizable.

Red Hot Ballroom

My good friend and fairy godchild, Dexter, has moved home to Canada. Before Dexter left he needed to prove that even Canadians can dance. He was a finalist in the tango representing P.S.58. Watch for the swing hair flip.

meet Ralf Swenson.

Ralf Sr. might be my life hero. He makes the impossibly romantic notion of farm life seem possible. This is a man who sparkles. You never catch Ralf without a charming grin unless he is about to try and pull a fast one on you. His rosy cheeks and inspiring optimism may be because he eats fresh cut spinach and new eggs for breakfast each morning, but it seems more likely that the sparkle comes from his relentless life passion. He has a hard life I imagine, the kind of hard it takes to maintain a small boutique farm in a pretty uncompromising climate. The Swenson farm was passed to him by his father and was one of the first in the state to be certified organic. This farm did not become organic, it just never became anything else. When I go to pick up my stash every few days, Ralf Sr. always attempts to introduce me to a new culinary experience straight from the ground. Each time he picks something for me it is done with the care and enthusiasm as if were his first time.

local architecture

country life.

It has been a year and Bob still claims to be bored by country life. He was born and raised near the docks in Brooklyn so I understand his apathy. Just to remind Bob (and me) why we are here, we put him in the basket and went for a bike ride.
First stop was the estate sale in town where I found, and quickly bought up, an old work table the size of my ex-Brooklyn apartment. I talked Ed into fixing it up and delivering it to my studio for a total, including the table, of two hundred dollars. Ed in Brooklyn would have charged that much just to deliver it. The next stop in town was the potter's studio where we agreed to have a teapot workshop tomorrow morning at 11am, open invitation.
A quick ride up the hill then brought us to the new found swimming hole...holes actually. There are a series of deep spots cascading down river, mostly hidden in the trees and perfect for skinny dipping. A long follow up ride on the most perfectly cliche country road led to a mysterious sign in hebrew suggesting there was a public yurt down the drive. It was true, must be some kind of kabbalah training center. We meditated on the idea for a few moments (mats were provided) and then carried on our way. After stopping a serious rider to ask how far to hwy.6, we realized his concept of "not far" may well be vastly different from ours. Luckily, there was an organic farm stand on the way, the kind where you put money in the box and take what you need. We needed a couple of perfect red tomatoes to get us to hwy.6.
At this point it was getting close to dusk and I was unsure how far to the blacksmith. The blacksmith shop is a landmark in the area. To be honest, I didn't think it was for real until I met Jonathan a couple of weeks ago. Jonathan was at the Swenson's farm looking to fix Ralf's old hoe that had come over on the boat from Sweden at the turn of the century, "my dad had this hoe in one hand and his banjo in the other". Jonathan invited me to visit his shop that day and it seemed like a good marker for our ride. Once finally there we were playing poker with the daylight. After an extensive tour of the shop we were getting hungry and there were at least a few miles left to get home . Jonathan gave us a couple cold drinks and sent us on our way. The final detour was the Swenson farm. You can't pass the Swenson's and not stop by for fresh cut collard greens and eggs straight from the bird.
Dinner was perfect and just in time for scarlet skies. Bob didn't even have to pedal.

snake water

for andy in munich who doesn't believe I live in the mts.

This is the view from the end of my property.

room 8

no joke...even the surgeon remarked.

08•08•08•08:00

• 8 is a composite number, its proper divisors being 1, 2, and 4.
• 8 is a power of two, being two cubed. It is the first cubed prime number.
• As of 2006, in our solar system, 8 of the bodies orbiting the Sun are considered to be planets.
• All spiders, and more generally all arachnids, have 8 legs. An octopus has 8 tentacles.
• In the middle ages, 8 was the number of "unmoving" stars in the sky, and symbolized the perfection of incoming planetary energy.
• There are 8 notes in an octatonic scale.
• In chess, each side has 8 pawns.
• The 8 Immortals are Chinese deities.
• Feng shui says 8 is the luckiest number of all because it sounds like the word "prosper" or "wealth".

The Beijing Olympics will open this Friday because of the very lucky date 08•08•08. They will begin at 8pm.
I have my very own Olympic challenge, inadvertently scheduled on the same day at 8am, and am actively seeking sponsors. I was officially told, not by the puppy lady, to request good vibes from friendly sponsors at that time. So here I am, breaking blog etiquette and asking for something back. Vibes and comments will be especially appreciated this Friday 08•08•08 at 08:00.

squatter's rights?

Someone is trying to make his point...and mine. You see, I do in fact use the bbq. This new string and leaf nest appeared overnight. Not sure, but I don't imagine 24hours gives him much legal recourse as a squatter.

country convergence

Looks strangely similar to the gold scrap...?
I guess someone was making a home in my bbq. Not as meticulous as a bower bird, but somebody who was very resourceful. They found Bob's fur in the compost and combined it with a shredded bbq instruction manual.
A bower bird nest!!!!!!!!

diamonds are forever....

Here is a sample of what 4,604.00 USD buys you at your local scrap yard these days. There was no trace of my stuff being dumped this week, but I did battle for some prize goods. I had to battle because there is a pecking order. Although I was there first, the guy with the yamaka took me for a rookie and decided to "help me out" by going through the bins first and passing me crap he thought I'd like. His true motive however, was to get to the diamonds first. You see, the price of gold is so outrageous that it is not worth some people's time to bother separating the stones. Good thing I wasn't interested in the diamonds, they creep me out. We all know by now, thanks to Hollywood and beyond, that diamonds represent eternal love only by way of arms exchange and civil war. Gold is equally disturbing. Since the resource is so fine and scarce, it takes cyanide to separate it from the ore it lives in. The extraction process leaves traces of mercury, arsenic, lead and cyanide in our water systems. The nice thing about gold is that, unlike diamond, the old stuff can be reshaped and reformed ('I love Jesus' is not an uncommon charm) while maintaining its material integrity. My goal is to keep some of its formal history in the process of re-building. You can actually visualize the dead guy's story whose teeth are hanging from your ears...if you feel like it. Anyway, occasionally a diamond gets in my mix and this time it was a 12 pointer. We know it is a diamond because my local setter took a dremmel blade to it and it didn't even mark. This could be big business, but I have a better idea, I will work on a piece (not a skull) using these bits and donate it back to the cause....or the Iziko museum of South Africa.

HEIST

Brilliant.
The exemplary author Lawrence Weschler wrote a book called Everything that Rises. A Book of Convergences.. Here is a convergence of a different genre.
I had a meeting to propose a book project this week. There were ideas, but just before leaving for the city I received a call: "I have something to tell you Kara, your work was at the warehouse being photographed and there has been a burglary". Hundreds of thousands of dollars worth of art and collectables everywhere and yet all they took was my stuff. Kiki Smith had a tray right next to mine. I'm pretty certain that this was an uninformed thief who has been following the outrageous gold standard, now hovering just below a thousand an ounce. My work must have looked delicious since it intentionally resembles a heaping pile of gold trash. When I go to 47th street to buy scrap it is a full on adventure. There are usually long lines of people emptying their pockets of misdirected wedding rings, dead relatives' gold teeth...or carefully lifted junk from a Brooklyn warehouse I'm sure.
I will spend the next weeks attempting to retrieve my trash since it will likely be re-dumped in the yard where I found it. There is a better story (and a new crown) in there somewhere.

"There's no place like home"....?

I have clicked my heels home more than once in these shoes, sometimes lucky. It is hard not to imagine there is some kind of significance here.
Kansas has apparently developed a serious moisture problem. Town legend says that the building was literally filled with water to cool the cream, hence the lovely brick floors. Yet there was never a mold problem before. Maybe the infamous "endless aquifer" under the Creamery has finally run wild? At least we're prepared for the impending water crisis, maybe I should also try to harvest the fungi?

p.s. the insides of the shoes were meant to be fuzzy...sorry trace, for the unintentional design alteration!
tn29 shoes

chiclet?

before
after

Encounters at the end of the world - the movie.

film still

This time in Antarctica, Werner Herzog examines life from the microscopic to the hyperreal. We travel with him to McMurdo station where the over qualified staff gets panicky when Mr.Softee runs low. I had heard somewhere before that the drive to get off the base is imminent once you land, preferably to get into the landscape without a bucket on your head. The landscape, even in the movies, is profound. Above ground and under the ice Herzog captures the insanity in a way only he can. Determined not to make another penguin movie, Herzog has taken all the penguin movie prerequisites and craftily made them work. I laughed, I cried and I'm ready for tickets to his next adventure.

oh, and...

"...if that doesn't work there is an American Kennels around the corner...."

filled with cute little leukemia riddled puppy farm dogs.

retail therapy

Seems like a lifetime of struggling to understand the meaning of "living in the moment" has led to serious side effects such as profound short/long term memory loss, as well as the inability to concentrate for more than a few seconds at a time. In two very long weeks this has all changed. I get it. I just hope I get to keep it, since it is not the first time I've felt a subconscious breakthrough.
September 11th 2001 was a similar experience. This day was riddled with conflicting emotions exemplified by the fact that I witnessed the entire disaster from my Brooklyn rooftop with two of the most gorgeous french men I'd ever seen, while they smoked Gitannes in their underwear. I'm not kidding. They lit their cigarettes with flaming World Trade documents which landed on the roof while we quietly watched the universe come to an end. Jean-Marc and Nicholas rode their rental bikes to my place the day before having heard that I leased my top floor to handsome strangers, and we all woke up to Armageddon. The week following was amazing, the three of us ate and drank and talked about what would happen if we were the only ones left on earth. It was terrifying and beautiful and sad and thrilling and hopeless and dreamy.
Once again, serious adversity doesn't feel as much like a sentence as it feels like a second lease on life. I say this even after I was given an important list of instructions yesterday which included a "mandatory trip to Bloomingdale's...even if you just go in one door and out the other...the colors and smells will transport you"....to the local asylum maybe.

beyonce bought my crown today.

I hope it helps her complete her fairy tale.

fairy tales...

My Snow White story may be over but it's just in time for a different kind of Grimm tale to unravel.
Today, after the storm, I feel is essentially the first day of the rest of my life.

deer & moose picnic

After a long fruitless search for deer meat last year, we roasted a pig at the August picnic. This year, a new contractor stopped by on Friday with a bag full of venison steak he had butchered himself. Maybe he was trying to make good for not showing up all week. Just to mix it up a bit, my friend Ron brought local moose meat. Though both went over very well, I still have enough meat in my freezer for winter, which makes me feel closer to fitting in up here. For entertainment, the band tested a few songs from the album they cut at the Creamery. There was lots of positive feedback, but the kids and the old people thought it was too loud.

down to up

The band soon formed a theory that I was actually storing a big strong man in my hatch. They could not figure out how I was getting certain things done around the place. I told them that if I had a big strong man I'd put him on the roof like a hood ornament, not in a basement hatch. They were very helpful all week, from getting rid of rattle snakes to fixing my skylight situation. Their company was also very nice, even if I did start to feel somewhat like a youthful Mrs.Robinson or a rather mature Pennie Lane.

dig

Arrived home late last night after a long day in the big city. Good thing I decided to come back at all. I asked the boys nicely not to blow up the place while I was gone, and they didn't, but they did lock themselves out.
While getting ready for bed I heard a bunch of activity outside. Apparently they had taken their first break for air in many hours and the door locked behind them. They found me in my nighty writing emails and invited me out "for a smoke" before I let them in. We were all chatting out front when J discovered a hollow sound in the ground beneath him. He was convinced this was a passage to the basement that I insisted did not exist. There was a hatch however, with a soft floor, so they spent some time digging while creating many good stories (songs?) about what we might find. The preferred story of course involved discovering a stash left over from the previous pharmaceutical company owner who had also bricked up the windows for security. Needless to say this adventure remains incomplete.

staying alive

"does the book say anything about what to do when a band of boys takes over...sound equipment and all...
and how not to scare the animals?"
-SS

before


bob's barking at the mike