reading list 1969

Before I post my reading list for this year, I'd like to take this opportunity to share my 1969 personal journal's last page (see above scan).

At the time, one of my primary considerations was creating an identity for myself as a thoughtful, well-read person. I had this recurring fantasy I would become a writer at a prodigiously young age, but first, I had some serious reading to do. Part of this came about because my reading and comprehension level was tested when I was a high school freshman in 1967, and I was subsequently told I measured at second year college level. Woo hoo! A prodigy for sure.

Surely if I did some heavy lifting (and Michener's The Source was a real doorstopper; I remember being impressed with myself for taking it on) I would begin to earn my place in the literary universe.

The path from Then to Now has been paved partly with good intentions, but also with indecision, immaturity, distraction, and an array of not atypical life choices I neither laud nor regret. Now, at the half century mark, I am finally getting around to writing My Book. Hurrah!

In the meantime, I read, both past and present tense. I have always done a lot of reading, probably not grounding myself with enough of the so-called classics, but my far-flung choice of reading material has always been a real pleasure and education.

It's been a while since I've been as organized about my reading as I was during my Junior year at Mt. Diablo High. So, partly in honor of my nearing completion of my fabled First Novel, and partly because it's a cool idea copied from my brilliant blogging friend Mike Wilson, I intend this year to have a reading list.

Onward!

to be continued

diorama

My main website has been temporarily retooled away from fashion miniatures. It now has two pages of photos of a new diorama project (listed as diorama one and diorama two) which I will eventually discuss here at DLCS.

The only two non-diorama pages still up (besides the home page, of course) are early morning on a street of dreams and details of uncommon luxury.

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slides

Recently I have begun sorting my slide collection. The full psychic weight of this endeavor has yet to be fully realized.

This project-- one both joyous and depressing-- began the other day when I was mentally composing a blog post about the most recent film starring Sam Rockwell (Moon), and was wondering about some makeup test photos I shot of him at my home when I was working on his very first film (Clownhouse) back in 1986...

to be continued

feb. 13

market tote, 1949

The other day I finally got around to renting and viewing the film Julie and Julia, which overall I enjoyed.

The costumes, props, and set decor in the 1949 segments of the film were done unusually well, especially given the Hollywood propensity for reimagining other eras to increase their aesthetic appeal to modern eyes. The art department went to some trouble to correctly portray a time and place.

In one scene, Meryl Streep is shopping in Paris, carrying a...

It made me scream. My husband almost choked on his popcorn, he was so startled by my outcry.

"That-- that basket!"

I began pointing wordlessly at the screen, gesticulating, practically sputtering.

She was carrying a metal-framed collapsible canvas shopping basket, what I now realize is called a market tote, with navy, yellow, red, and white stripes. It was absolutely identical to something my parents (who got married in 1952) had when I was a child. It's been gone from my life, and my consciousness, for decades.

There are many objects from my past I remember vividly, but there's only so much room in there and some things fall away. If not for that movie, I feel quite certain I would never have remembered that particular object. And yet once I could see it again, it was as familiar anything could possibly be.

If we'd kept it for some reason, it would be like the ubiquitous, infamous penguin ice bucket, an object that has retained it's presence in my life, gradually transforming from a household item into a personal historic icon. But because that humble market tote fell away from the continuum of my life and then turned up right before my eyes a lifetime later-- or for reasons I may never understand-- it created an especially strong emotional response.

In one form or another, this is what it is to have photo albums, to collect things, to go to certain kinds of museums and look with the delight of recognition at ephemera from the past. It means the past isn't gone, not really... both our personal histories and those we share.

Keeping certain objects close, we carry the past with us. Collecting replacements, we reconstruct it, validate it. We take an old dream and eventually fullfill it to a level beyond anything we imagined; we rescript the story with a better, more sastifying ending.

When the past re-emerges from nowhere, when an object appears as if by magic, it can stop us in our tracks with its power.

What happened to that steel-framed canvas basket? Was it a wedding gift? My parents must have used it. Did it eventually get rusty in our garage? At what point did either my mother or father donate it to the Salvation Army? I phoned my father as soon as the closing credits finished rolling; he doesn't seem to remember the details, although he vaguely remembered the item.

So I'll never know. But there is was, evidence up on the movie screen although of what precisely, it's hard to say. I'm tempted to say the experience, as with all such experiences, affords the illusion of cheating time.

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memory palace

bookshelves are not just for books