Can't Stop, Won't Stop

Aa thank goodness. I have been pulled far from my computer lately, preparing for next steps and new projects, as well as immersing myself in some wonderful stories. Exciting, but sometimes that takes hold and I neglect for a short time my other beloved creative outlets, like this blog. And yes, something of the world in pain causes me to pull away, to bring my energy back to myself. Bailey, my kind of art/fashion pen pal, posted a link to some gorgeous Dazed and Confused photos of model Magdalena Frackowiak in Victor and Rolf, shot by Josh Olins. Thank you Bailey for reminding me that it's still safe to create and share!

Sarah Seven's Luscious Frocks

Sarah Seven, Portland's queen of gorgeous frothy wedding dresses, has come out with a new line of ready-to-wear dresses that are just yummy. If any designer from this neck of the woods (or the world) can produce garmets that could be described as "poetic," it'd be Sarah Seven. New look book shot by Lavenda Memory and worn by our lovely Kate Troedsson.

Love To Japan

The damage done and the lives lost to the earthquake and tsunami in Japan is horrifying. I can't even imagine how incredibly scary that would be to have phone and Internet cut off and not know the safety of family and friends. One thing that is fascinating is the Japanese infrastructure set up for the event of earthquakes and tsunamis of this magnatude. This bit from the NYT on The Lede blog quoted William M. Tsutsui, professor of Japanese business and economic history and dean of Southern Methodist University in Dallas, who was in Tokyo during the earthquake and noted how the massive buildings swayed, but didn't crack or crumble under the pressure: "'It's really a testament to Japanese construction methods,'' he said. 'I can't imagine a quake of this magnitude in Los Angeles or San Francisco causing almost no damage. The contrast to Haiti could not be more extreme.''" Of course there is considerable damage along the coast from the tsunami.

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Even as I write, there are more tremors going off, a 6.6 earthquake in Niigata, for one. I just texted my dad in Chicago to see if his Japanese friends are okay. Sending loving energy and prayers to our friends and fellow humans in Japan.

Finally I Can Be Honest About My Obsession With Cats

This morning I awoke to the horrible realization that I have severely underrepresented my love of cats on this blog. I don't usually ever post pictures of random celebrities, but today just has to be an exception with this stunning black and white of actress Amanda Seyfried in this month's Elle, shot by Alexei Hay. I just can't get enough of the styling and contrasts: the shadows, the make up, the high waisted Jason Wu... but really it's the cats I'm after.

Royal Bohemian

The currently Brooklyn-based Gretchen Jones has just launched her debut collection under her name and brand new website, and the clothes are just gorgeous. Some viewers and fashion-world people threw a fit about her Season 8 Project Runway win over the beloved and talented Mondo, but I was rooting for Gretchen the whole time for several reasons: She was a Portland designer helping to put our West Coast city on the fashion map, I adore my little white MothLove [her previous brand] dress, and more than anything, I think she has an incredible aesthetic. As I've argued, a designer doesn't need to be all flash and pomp to make a statement; Gretchen's debut line demonstrates her ability to cut flattering but Bohemian lines, and stays true to her minimalist aesthetic without getting boring. I especially appreciate the fresh lengths and shapes punctuated but standout South-Western jewelry. What color she did include is rich, and adds dynamism to the collection.

 

You Are The Season That Makes Me Forget That Things Die

What a small delightful world we live in! This morning I woke up to a message from Bailey, a friend whom I met this winter when she flew to Portland from NYC to sing with Just People for our Masquerade Ball. She wrote that her roommate is Alex Ustach, another poet featured by the Rugby Poets Club. Small small world! I'm going to try and get her on the phone to talk knits and poems. Keep you posted. Her poem here is called "Reborn."

All This Chaos A Symphoy The City Composed Just For Us

Ralph Lauren Rugby is putting on a contest to find the next great poet. They've already found one: Joshua Bennett. Go here see him at the White House Poetry Slam...oh my god, it's incredible. Today I got an email today from Nicole from 360i representing Ralph Lauren and describing the project as this: "In celebration of culture, art, and inspiration, The Rugby Poets Club is searching for the next great poet to share their self expression through written or spoken word." They say it's a series inspired by the city. I like that.

For Her

I

forgot
that falling
could feel like flight.
Barely remembered
How sorely my hands missed
the joy of juggling stars
until I kissed all your rough spots
in rapid succession. You taste like
moon. A slice of sky God let me borrow.

-Joshua Bennett

I Don't Love You As If You Were A Rose

Right now I am obsessed with two things: The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo (I know I'm not an early adopter, but now I'm hooked on the whole series) and the Brooklyn-based band Yeasayer. I can't get enough. And as always, I'm immersed in the study of love through poetry. Below is Neruda's take on the subject. Lovely Kerri, shot by Ben Pigao, with makeup (pretty clean lips and face, classic gold smokey eye) by me.

One Hundred Love Sonnets: XVII

I don't love you as if you were a rose

I don't love you as if you were a rose of salt, topaz,

or arrow of carnations that propagate fire:

I love you as one loves certain obscure things,

secretly, between the shadow and the soul.

I love you as the plant that doesn't bloom but carries

the light of those flowers, hidden, within itself,

and thanks to your love the tight aroma that arose

from the earth lives dimly in my body.

I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where,

I love you directly without problems or pride:

I love you like this because I don't know any other way

       to love,

except in this form in which I am not nor are you,

so close that your hand upon my chest is mine,

so close that your eyes close with my dreams.

-Pablo Neruda

It's A Fresh Spring, So Let's Sing

My best buddies have a show coming up on March 2 at the Goodfoot in Portland. For the uninitiated, Wednesdays are actually a great night to go out! Gets you all primed and ready for the weekend, or something. It's going to be an awesome show: Just People plus DJ DV8 (usually plays with Marv Ellis) playing their first show in Portland since Masquerade Ball. They had a great California tour, which you can read about on their blog here (written by front man Scott Gilmore and creative director and guitarist Ian Ridgeway). I love this shot from their recent shoot with Leah Verwey. (Her latest project is really cool: called Spacepdx, she photographs Portland people and the spaces they work in. Her work is seriously awesome, and perfectly Portland--creative and feels so new.)

Calligraphy

Today I'm all cozied up with my cat (he's thankfully home, fever-free from the animal hospital--quite a scare this week!) and my Ink & Peat moss and mint candle (thank you sisters), watching a fresh dusting of snow fall while I write. (View from my window, below.) I've been writing forever, and I've always loved it. When I was 6 I started a "chapter book" about a talking Christmas tree and her family. I would lovingly rewrite the chapters I thought were the best, changing bits here and there until I truly believed my childish prose was a masterpiece. I'm from a family of writers, so it all feels very right and natural--even if, like many writers, I suffer an occasional bout of self doubt (or more often, agony). Of course my Grandma Anita readily encouraged my desire to find my voice through writing. She was an excellent story teller.

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This morning I couldn't locate this poem in any of my grandma's books, so my dad recited it while he flipped through looking for it. I thought that was pretty special. The sun is starting to come out and the snow is slowing slightly. I love that soft, muffled sound the snow makes when it falls.

Calligraphy

The snow has come again.

I cannot sweep the porch

for printed on the white

I find small tracings

of a hopping bird. Erase

such elfin artistry? Not I.

Could you? Or you?

-Anita Hamm

Murder Mystery



It's not every Saturday night that one finds herself transported to the 1920's and in a grand old hotel amidst a scandal. The night was full of murder and intrigue...all that scheming and speculating and gossiping... For my part, it wasn't long before I discovered that my character was doomed! As fate had it, I wasn't to get the part in my fabulous Hollywood film like I thought I might. At least I didn't suffer the untimely death Mister Nemetz did...

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You know by now how much we like to play dress up! Photos by Tyler Gould, organized by Jillian Rabe and Natasha Vieira. From top: Ryan Johnstone, Megan Rabe, Joe Aimonetti, Ani Larson, Scott Gilmore, Nick Sontag and Luke Sontag.

Judge A Moth By The Beauty Of Its Candle

Sure, much can be discovered through solitude. But what about the absolute divinity of most precious friendships? If your friendships are anything as wonderful as mine, I'd work hard to keep them fresh and healthy. Here, a dearest and bestest friend of mine Scott playing out in the Black Rock desert. You can bet our friendship is made of being awake, late and loud into the night.

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The Waterwheel 

Stay together, friends.

Don't scatter and sleep.

Our friendship is made

of being awake.

The waterwheel accepts water

and turns and gives it away,

weeping.

That way it stays in the garden,

whereas another roundness rolls

through a dry riverbed looking

for what it thinks it wants.

Stay here, quivering with each moment

like a drop of mercury.

-Rumi

The Beauty Of Solitude

My grandmother, lover of words and beauty, created a world of fulfillment through her artistry and imagination. Very early she discovered no one else was going to sweep her off her feet provide her magical fantasy, so she set about doing it herself. That world she let her granddaughters in, to witness and create along side her. The art, the poetry, the music, the natural world, the make believe...it was all a part of the message: you can create it! Don't you wait for anyone to create it for you.

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The first poem is perhaps a moment of regret. But more likely it is a brief departure from fantasy, a meditation on reality. I can't see the purpose of posting this poem without the next, found side by side in the collection of poems "Between Raindrops" (book published 1985). If the first is the glimpse of her post-World War II reality, the second is only the beginning of what she knew was possible.
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 Above photo shot in the Ford Building with Ben Piago last spring. Model Hannah Gale. Make up by me. Sahlia Michelle Jewlery. Lizard Lounge shoes, tank and shirt. Model's own jeans.

Blue Rain

Where are you
this four o'clock afternoon
when the rain is falling
in great sheets?
where are you
when I'm crouched
in a wool coverlet
of rejection,
alone?
Are you
also in a cave
taking your ease
in dim lit cacophony?

My music,
my flowers,
my books
do not interest you
I will stir
my solitary cup of "instant"
and pretend
I'm hosting another lover

of rain.

-Anita Hamm

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A Coming Together

Today we made poetry
which is something
like making love.

A high bright fire
sings in the blood.
touching off radiance

Small rainbows
glance
off words.

Small arcs are struck
from our thoughts
as we make a weld

fragile
but enduring.

-Anita Hamm

Shy-Town Saturday

Working on a couple websites, one of them mine. If you haven't heard Gorillaz album The Fall, written and recorded on the road during their most recent tour (all on the iPad), do so now. (Although I might be the only late bloomer on this one! I seem to always be a couple months behind in Gorillaz's releases for some reason.) Perfect Saturday listening. It's musical poetry, with an incredibly vast arrangement of elements. I understand it, though, only peripherally. I can't take the pieces apart like I could a poem or a piece of literary art. I wonder what listening to music would be like as a developed muscian. I don't grieve it though--I speak my own lovely languages. And it doesn't take the kind of deep understanding of a scientist to grasp the beauty of the stars.

The Tell: Weak Means Strong, Strong Means Weak

Check out this sweet campified short film I worked on last year with Devon Lyon and Kevin Curry at Lyon Films.  A Best in Festival award at the 7th Annual Eugene Open Lens Festival (plus a review in the Eugene Weekly) got the film back on our minds this week. As a town that proudly hosts well-attended nearly year-round Rocky Horror Picture Shows, Eugene loving the campy creepy fun is no surprise at all! I love this little bit from the Weekly review about short films as a valid story-telling device: "Short films don’t have all that much time to truly suck, and when they’re done well they have all the compressed emotional impact of a great short story." Also, "This nearly perfect short film is creepy, bloody, hilarious and, in the end, completely shocking — like a musical conceived by Scorsese, scored by Sondheim and directed by Guillermo del Toro." Wow! 

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The week before shooting The Tell (I guess it was Fall 2009), I met Devon at their studio and picked up a gallon of blood and a bag full of fake scars and plastic open wounds. This being my introduction to gore FX makeup, I enlisted my dearest (and most patient) male friend Scott (guys like blood and gore right?) to practice on. The night of (this was a 12 hour, all-nighter shoot), Nadia Kingston and I put the gallon of blood and falsie wounds to good use. I especially enjoyed my job of dumping blood down the neck of our poor young man sacrificed over the bucket. Jillian Rabe stars as the lady in distress alongside Todd Robinson and Norm Sanders.