iris fylstra wanted to write, 1946

happy birthday, ray bradbury

Sir, I too wanted us to be firmly on our strange and wonderful stepping-stone moon by now, preparing in earnest for Mars, but as the decades slipped by we strayed off that path. Even so, I haven't lost all hope that we find our strength and vision once again.

It was at Planetfest in 1981 in Pasadena where I tried to put into words my appreciation for all that you've given us, for your being my longtime writing mentor, sincere sentiments that were received with your considerable grace and good will... despite your having heard such comments hundreds of times through the decades.

Happy 90th birthday, Ray Bradbury, and all my regards until we meet again.

brenda cox giguere

* * *

Note: Name of artist unavailable but I am checking; the work is in conjunction with a proposed television project I caught wind of. Details as they become available.

beauty and the beast, via cocteau

On my nightstand: Re-reading Jean Cocteau's diary of the arduous making of his seminal, luminous film, Beauty and the Beast.

* * *

Above is a pencil sketch I did, while in college, of the artist and director.

thoughts and prayers for healing

Some people I care about are having health problems, and I want to extend my thoughts and prayers for their recovery.

* * *

fathers' day

dorothy fannin

A friend of mine from the world of fashion dolls is gone, passing quietly in her sleep at the age of 82.

Here is my interview with her from two years ago.

The Atelier Reverie Larke interview

It was great to know you, Dorothy.

* * *

photo by joy loveday

This exceptional photograph was taken by a family friend, Ms. Joy Loveday of St. George, Utah.

christopher coppola, outlaw

Second from left, Christopher Coppola: director, writer, actor, outlaw. Location photo taken outside of Lovelock, Nevada. It's hard to see his face because I'd just applied Plains Dust to realistically dirty him up-- in a sanitary way, of course-- for that 'just rode forty hard miles across the desert with my posse' look. To his left is his cousin Roman.

Working with these fascinating and creative people in the middle of nowhere for two months was an incredible experience. I'll begin sharing some of these memories here, soon.

Costume styling by Bud Clark. Set design by Roy Cox. Key makeup by Brenda Giguere.

Gunfighter (AKA Ballad of a Gunfighter), written and directed by Christopher Coppola (1999)

scénariste: coco before chanel

The writer, the director, the publisher, the screenwriter, the costumer, the main character... all women! That's unusual in and of itself. From a personal standpoint, I found Coco Before Chanel a captivating and melancholy film. Truth be known, my throat was tight through nearly the entire evening (and not just from all the on-screen smoking), even when a given scene wouldn't seem to warrant that kind of reaction; apparently it referenced certain thematic elements that hit a nerve with me. Beyond that, it was a completely beautiful film with intelligent writing, wise acting; a story of talent, determination, and longing.

Many people besides me appreciate this film, but it has taken a hold of me for multilayered personal reasons.

It doesn't appear to be released in BluRay format yet, but eventually I'd like to purchase an edition that includes both versions so I can watch it on my monitor as well as in the media room.

Update: I showed it to my friend and houseguest, GV, and she liked it so much she immediately ordered three copies, for herself and two friends.

mrs. stowe and DL&CS

What is the Dreamland Literary and Cinematic Society?

Let's forget for a moment that this is just another blog, a stopping place in the metaverse visited by a mere handful of sympathetic readers. It has always been my plan to eventually create a kind of Honor Roll. The Society can be thought of, in part, as showcasing a virtual assembly of people I appreciate. It is this facet of DL&CS I will talk about today.

Exceptional people both young and old, men and women, serious and playful, living and non-corporeal, will over time be given special recognition here.

Now and then I will induct people into DL&CS, gifted individuals who I feel should be honored and placed on the member roster. I will not pretend there is any kind of science behind my choices-- they will reflect my personal values and interests.

There are no dues, rituals, exploitations, or obligations; there is no tomfoolery or fine print or hidden agenda. I seek only to recognize, over time, a varied group of people and their special contributions.

Obviously enough, those who have already passed from this earthly realm will never learn they have been named as members. Nor will they give me explicit permission to fuss over them. But because they are such special folks, I'm confident they would understand, and perhaps even approve.

These extraordinary people travel through both time and space with something to share with us.

Who will these Society members be?

For quite some time, I've been mentally assembling a list.

The first person I would like to induct into the Dreamland Literary and Cinematic Society is the author Harriet Beecher Stowe, who I referred to in a recent blog post (a place to write).

A small photo of Mrs. Stowe is also featured in a diorama I designed and installed, by invitation, for the Oakland Museum of California, for a new permanent exhibit in the California History wing.*

My museum diorama was not exclusively about her, it should be noted, but I included her for her role in my life as an inspiring figure.

My beloved "Aunt" Harriet is being given a place in DL&CS for many reasons. Most significantly is for her novel, Uncle Tom's Cabin, a work that had tremendous social/cultural effect on the United States and beyond.

The work is occasionally derided for, among other things, certain perceived patronizing or condescending attitudes, an unfair evaluation that dismisses the context of when it was written and fails to fairly acknowledge the work's tremendous impact. The work played a key role in our history.

Another way to admire this woman is to acknowledge her focus and productivity as a writer, and her considerable skill as a literary artist.

Parenthetically, I'm pleased to be in the same family tree as Mrs. Stowe, on my mother's side of my family. But I know I would be honoring her here even without the family connection.


HARRIET BEECHER STOWE

Inducted into the Dreamland Literary and Cinematic Society on this day, 23 March, 2010.

Respectfully submitted,

Brenda Cox Giguere


*The Oakland Museum of California will reopen on May 1 of this year after extensive refurbishing and redesign.

sunflowers on a starry night

A worn-looking man sits disconsolately at a café table on a quiet cobblestone street. Behind him is a dazzling starry sky, but the man is peering down into his coffee cup. His reverie is interrupted by the arrival of a man in a dark suit with a dark turtleneck and expensive-looking eyewear. His hair is in a sleek ponytail, and he is sporting a cultivated and near-perfect two-day beard growth. Even in the near-dark, his teeth are gleaming white.

MAN: Excuse me… is your name Vincent? Vincent Van Gogh?

VINCENT: Yes… yes it is. Who are you?

MAN: Name’s Metro… Mark Metro, of Metro Marketing. (extends hand) Can I buy you another coffee, Vincent?

VINCENT: Uh… no. No, I’m fine. Do I know you?

METRO: No, Vincent. But I’m hoping in the next few minutes that will change. (Pauses, looks at chair next to Vincent, then seats himself) What would you say if I told you I have secrets to success… secrets that could turn things around for you? That today could be a new beginning for you? Well, I’m here to tell you, it’s no dream!

VINCENT: Well, I wouldn’t mind selling some paintings, actually. And it gets old trying to explain my vision to people when it’s right in front of them to see. But I’m not sure…

METRO: Exactly! Of course you wouldn’t mind selling paintings! What artist wouldn’t? Listen, I’ve been checking around. I know the market… it’s my job to know the market. It’s your job to paint, right? But not just any old painting you feel like. There’s something terribly self-indulgent about that, if you’ll pardon my saying so! How can you possibly succeed if you just take shots in the dark like that?

VINCENT: Well, I was hoping a few more people could learn to appreciate what I’m doing, and then success would follow. I’m actually sort of surprised at the blank looks I get sometimes. It can be pretty depressing. But every now and then, somebody astute says, “Hey, I see exactly what you’re doing here, and it’s exciting, intelligent work… thank you for painting it; keep the faith, man.” Then I’m reminded of what I must believe is true… that there really is something to what I’m doing.

METRO: I see.

VINCENT: Of course, those people are other artists, and usually have even less money than I do.

METRO: (makes clucking sounds and shakes his head) Vincent, Vincent… why make the public work that hard? Why suffer for your sanity? A picture is worth a thousand words, so let’s talk about your last painting, shall we? Then you’ll know what I’m talking about.

VINCENT: Sunflowers? What about it?

METRO: Here’s what my research tells me about sunflowers. Sunflowers… well, they’re just not cutting it. People don’t want to see a picture of something that grows next to a barn. They want something better. They want some glamour hanging over their sofas.

VINCENT: (looks puzzled)

METRO: I’ve got one word for you, Vincent: Roses. Big, beautiful roses in an attractive vase. It works for Hallmark, it can work for you. Of course, you have some leeway with the colors, but if you’d like to further refine your efforts, we’ve done studies on the five most popular colors, broken down by demographics. Warm-up on your coffee, Vincent? (Metro gestures for a waiter, then points to Vincent’s cup, then himself). One fellow I represent, he’s got the dewdrop-on-the-petal thing really working for him. I forget his name right now, but you’ve seen his stuff.

VINCENT: Look, Metro, I don’t have anything against roses. If a patron hired me, I’d probably do some roses for him. But why would somebody look at my work and want roses, when the whole blooming point is that it’s sunflowers… done my way? Don’t you detect any irony here?

METRO: Vincent, there’s no point in being a martyr. Do you want to die without selling anything? What do you think is going to happen? Best-case scenario… a hundred years rolls by, and your sunflower canvas goes up for auction, maybe tastes have changed, maybe somebody thinks you were a genius. So what? Are they going to tap on your casket and toss you a percentage? Give you an award? Maybe somebody will write a song about you. How many potatoes does that put on your table?

VINCENT: I know you’re trying to help, but what you’re saying is pointless to me. It’s every bit as important how I sell my work as whether or not I sell it. I need to find people who can see it, because I think I’m onto something. Sure, maybe there's room for me to perfect things, but… but nothing truly wonderful can come of giving up. No hard feelings, OK?

METRO: (Shrugs) Hey, it’s your choice, man. Let me get your coffee. You know, just between you and me, there really is something about that sunflower painting. It doesn’t make any sense to me, but… oh, forget it. (Stands up, tosses coins onto the café table). Wow; quite a sky tonight. Just look at those stars. Amazing. I bet a sky like that would look pretty incredible in your style. You know… different. But it might be kind of cool.

VINCENT: (Peers at sky in silence a moment). Thanks. Thanks for the coffee.

* * *

a place to write

This special fantasy place- this place to write- has more than one version in my imagination. Let's call them VR, VU, and VS. VS is suburban, and where I now live actually comes close to being my ideal writer's setup within a suburban setting. Of course, I realize I'm fortunate to have my very own space, but it's more than that; it's gratifying that sometimes after years of creative planning and working towards a dream, idiosyncratic interior design goals- like mine- really can be reached.

It's not entirely perfect in that I occasionally share my computer, and am subject to some interruption by spouse and cat. But after decades of less than ideal setups, my little home office is appealing and useful and filled with things I love: two computer monitors, a small daybed made glamorous with an array of throw pillows, shelves filled with books both useful and collectible, personal ephemera in various little displays and dioramas, a small microwave, a coffeemaker, a space heater, a fan, attractive lighting, and an electronic keyboard right behind me on a second (glass) desk... a gift of music from my thoughtful husband.

Like the rest of the house, I clean this area myself. Although it's not a big room, there's a lot here to curate (dust), but at least everything is finally just the way I like it after years of tweaking. And at night, as it is now, any daytime problems with this writing space largely disappear.

The rural fantasy version of a place to write, VR, is modelled loosely on an actual single-room writer's retreat I saw in Northern California several years ago: a separate narrow building far from the main house, tucked away behind trees and accessible via an unpaved road; it had one long wall with a great deal of glass, revealing a couple of unmatched Alan Brady Show writer-style sofas dotted with various pillows and afghans, great towering and toppling stacks of resource materials, the entire space filled with funky accoutrements, vintage movie posters, flea-market furnishings, and personal ephemera. There's a small refridgerator, a hotplate, and all the appropriate provisions. With La Boheme on the stereo (and no barking neighborhood dog), surely great things can happen in a space like this.

The urban version, VU, varies somewhat and is a kind of composite. I've tried a few times to recreate it in the virtual world of Second Life, and the closest was a brick loft space in an exceptionally realistic art sim called Cetus, now gone. Of course, you can't actually be a writer in Second Life inasmuch as you're not really there; you can merely play at the idea of being one.

Or can you? When I had my virtual loft there, on a few occasions I would park my avatar at my virtual desk and then switch back to RL (real life) and do some real writing. It sounds strange to say this, I know, but knowing my virtual self was in that loft added an interesting psychological nuance to the writing session.

From time to time I check to see if real-life lofts are by some miracle affordable, but except for inaccessibly far away (or far too tiny), they never are. But it's still a great fantasy. This type of loft space more often ends up as a backdrop for my designer fantasies rather than my writing ones, but the two pursuits could definitely be combined. I wonder, sometimes, where Harriet Beecher Stowe did her writing. She probably didn't waste as much time as I do thinking about optimal writing environments, and simply sat at her desk and got down to the urgent business of writing.

* * *

being neal stephenson

Author of many edgy bestselling novels, two of which I find particularly fascinating-- Snow Crash and The Diamond Age-- Neal Stephenson has an unusual distinction: these dazzling flights of fancy have directly inspired the two very real modern developments of Second Life and Kindle.

to be continued

* * *

august coppola 1934-2010

"To write, you can't be interrupted," he said. "It throws you off. It's like trying to make love and people keep walking in on you."

August Coppola

icons

* * *