Showing posts with label poetry. Show all posts
Showing posts with label poetry. Show all posts

Monday, July 8, 2013

Mapple

I recently finished reading Just Kids by Patti Smith. This book inspired me to write, to make art, to sing, and to learn about my city's and culture's history. It follows the story of Patti Smith and Robert Mapplethorpe making their way into the art and music scenes in New York City in the sixties and seventies. She introduces you to some of the most remarkable people of the 20th century, like Jimi Hendrix, Allen Ginsberg, Sam Wagstaff, and Bob Dylan. 

As a poet, visual artist, and performer, I like to think that Patti and I have a lot in common (in theory). But one of the most beautiful aspects of the memoir is her relationship with Robert. Their devotion to one another is so wholesome and unconditional that it sort of makes you want to go find Patti Smith and hug her, or maybe write her a really long letter, or look at every picture of them together. Patti allows you to experience the intimacy of their relationship unapologetically and fully. After I finished Just Kids, I immediately Google'd Robert's work and took out some of my favorite photographs of his. I felt that much more connected to his pictures because I'd learned his personal history and about his climb to the pinnacle of artistic talent. 

I strongly recommend the book to everyone, no matter if you're a Patti Smith fan or not (I'd never heard her music before I read her book). It's wonderful and well-written and beautiful. And it has lines like, "It had started with the moon, inaccessible poem that it was." 








If there's a Robert Mapplethorpe exhibit near you at any point, you obviously must go see it and report back to me.


Thursday, February 28, 2013

A Convergence

Sometimes I have the irrepressible urge to dress like a gypsy princess. I also sometimes have the nagging desire to dress like a fancy business lay-dee. Sometimes, the two converge in a yellow wood  (I know it's actually "diverged" but it was too good to pass up) and I have no choice but to live by the wise words of Oscar Wilde and yield to my temptation. Below you shall see the result of such an undertaking. 

[Photos by Alina Peña.]

Top: gift from my aunt in France
Pants: unknown
Denim jacket: Gap (embroidered by me)
Scarf: pashmina from my grandma
Plaid jacket: Outerwear (I got it at the flea market at Vassar where I also got that pink tweed jacket, which funnily enough I wore with these pants)
Shoes: Christian Siriano for Payless

In the words of the photographer for this post: "boobies!"

I'm just glad that my little midriff there didn't get frostbite or nothin'. I'd say that's something to smile about. Also Alina may have been making a particularly ridiculous face. 

Peep the hand-knitted mittens, made by me, circa third grade. I had a knitting business from fourth through sixth grades. I'll give you the link so you can have a good long laugh. This is it. 

I wore this outfit to the Clover Canyon show on Wednesday, February 13, in case anyone was wondering.

Does Thursday remind anyone else of pretzels?

Monday, November 26, 2012

Winter Is Blue

...That is, according to Vashti Bunyan. She's kind of all-knowing in her own hippie-gypsy way.

Even though I love winter as a concept, in practice we're not the best of friends. The thought of being really cold and throwing on a sweater and drinking hot tea is exciting until I remember how nasty I feel on the subway wearing too many layers, or how unpleasant it is when I'm walking to school and I have no feeling in my legs. Tomorrow is supposed to be in the 30s and 40s, which means I have to be wearing buttloads of clothing that I will have to shed and put on depending on what classroom I'm in. Someone needs to figure out how to get some uniform heating going on in my school, because I had to wear my peacoat as a cape during English today, while I stripped down to my two lightest layers in art class. Get on it, guys. 

All of that was irrelevant to the point of this post. Since the winter solstice (aka the best yet most under-appreciated holiday of the year) is less than a month away, let's focus on the present moment. It's Monday, we have a full week ahead of us, and my eyes are shutting as I write this. What does this mean, really? I'm just beating around the proverbial bush to an outrageous extent. I AM TIRED AND UNINSPIRED TO DO MUCH AND YOU PROBABLY SHARE SIMILAR SENTIMENTS SO I THOUGHT IT WOULD BE HELPFUL FOR YOU GUYS IF I POSTED SOME FUNNY AND STIMULATING PICTURES I TOOK OF PHOTOGRAPHS AT THE MUSEUM ON ELLIS ISLAND OVER THE SUMMER. There. The power of run-on sentences and capital letters. And fragments. Yes. 

[Original photographers unknown.] 

The inspirational ones:




The oh-Lordy ones: 



And if you happen to have 27 minutes (or even just a few, every single part is amazing) to listen to the poet (and one of my personal idols) Allen Ginsberg perform one of his most famous poems, "Howl," here you go: 


Cyber Monday? Not a fan. Are you, though? I won't hate, I promise. 

Sunday, October 21, 2012

We Are All Rookies

If you can remember back to about a million years ago (read: September), you may remember that I mentioned in my fun lil' video that Octavia and I went to the Rookie Mag Yearbook One launch at McNally Jackson on a Sunday night during Fashion Week. That Sunday I'd gone to Lela Rose in the morning, bought some snazzy-as-hayl hot pink running shoes (I KNOW)--a process which took nearly an hour and a half, and of course I ended up buying the pair I had initially tried on--crashed at Lola's crib for a while and did what is always done at other peoples' houses: absolutely nothing, and then met good ol' 'Tavia (whoa, unintentional wordplay because of the existence and relevance of Tavi Gevinson in this post) down in SoHo for the book launch. Before I continue, I would like to point out that I just used three different sentence-splicing punctuation forms in one painfully long run-on. Back to mon histoire. 

Octavia and I had missed the Rookie Road Trip New York stop because she was unaware that it was happening and I was way on the other side of the country, and we both cried internally for weeks. Naturally, when she told me about this event, I shouted, "YES!" so loud at my phone (note: I wasn't having a phone conversation...it was a text message) that my mom thought I had said "ow" and was very concerned that I was seriously injured. I had no idea what to expect, so I wasn't dressed as quirkily and Rookie-ish as I would've liked. You'll see in a minute how fuqin' amazing everyone was dressed. Petra was wearing high-waisted bell bottoms with perfectly frizzed out hair. Amy Rose was wearing an apron. Tavi looked like she had stepped out of Junya Watanabe's mind into the Valentino Spring 2012 collection and then Apparated to McNally Jackson. Even Octavia was dressed perfectly (when is she not, though?) in a band tee shirt (maybe it was The Smiths? We were/are in a huge Smiths phase. Edit: it was Duran Duran), a yellow floral A-line skirt, and I believe a pair of red Supergas. Octavia, if you are reading this, now you know just how creeptastically I stalk your outfits. 

I can't even begin to express how extraordinary that night was. I literally cannot find a word in the dictionary app on my computer that can describe how much love I felt from everyone in that room and how much I felt that THESE ARE MY PEOPLE. Because people that read and write Rookie are honestly the most amazing people I have ever met. They are so supportive of the mere existence of everyone around them when surrounded by fellow Rookies that it is simply mind-blowing. I cannot count the number of times Octavia and I made eye contact throughout the night with that look of, "oh my God, why is everyone here so perfect and why can't we all just combine to be an awesome blob of greatness" that can only be validated by the presence of Tavi Gevinson and her compatriots and followers. 

I had only discovered the beautiful creation that is Rookie Mag last June, during a particularly terrifying chapter of school/everything. Prepare yourself for the cliché meter to hit 11. When I was feeling uninspired to write, blog, draw, interact with people, read, make collages, peruse the Internet, or even sleep (who is ever uninspired to sleep? That is just the most ridiculous statement ever made in the history of forever, but sadly it was true), Rookie suddenly brought me out of that slump. Remember The Rebirth? That was courtesy of Tavi's new influence on my life. If you've never read the online magazine before, let me sum it up. It is the pre-, current, and post-adolescent girl's guide to life. There is nearly everything on there that you need or want to know, are curious about, care even a smidgen about, didn't know was a thing but now you do, and everything in between. There's one void that I intend to fill myself because they accept reader submissions, but of course I will let you know if and when that happens. 

I feel as though I have a personal connection to Tavi. We're both fashion bloggers, short teenage girls, born only around a year apart, are writers, enjoy singing (she's in an a cappella group, aka my dream), have an unfounded fascination in tulle (her personal 8tracks username is tulletulle and her twitter is @tavitulle), and have a multitude of other insignificant things in common. Tavi is my role model more than everyone I've ever praised on this blog, including Emma Watson and Alexa Chung, because she embodies everything I value and admire in a human being. She tries not to care what everyone else thinks about her; she began blogging at age eleven and had shaken hands with Björk and Marc Jacobs by age thirteen; she singlehandedly made looking like a pubescent grandma cool; she is a phenomenal writer; she created Rookie and subsequently coalesced the most unexpected combination of interesting people; she does all of this and is still in high school; and above all, she is a human being, and totally owns up to it. Tavi admits to her flaws and publicizes them to make everyone else feel better. The rawness and honesty of Rookie is what draws me to it. Those thoughts you thought were unutterable but desperately wished weren't are suddenly on your computer screen (and now in print!). It's easy to idolize someone you know nothing about. I know absolutely zero things about Alexa Chung except that she looks awesome always, yet I have managed to mention her frequently enough on this site that she has her own tag. She could be a terrible person (although I doubt she is), and I would never know because there's no way I could unless I spoke to her in person. And even then I would have to become very close to her to really know her. But with Tavi, you read her articles for Rookie and you have complete faith that she is real. And that's comforting. 

When I stood in front of her at a small independent bookstore in SoHo, I was more starstruck than I've ever been in my entire life. You all can see on this blog how many famous people I've met or seen just in the past year and a half: it's an unfairly large number. Based on my frequent caption: "I had a mini heart attack," used when describing an encounter with a renowned figure, it's obvious how easily affected I am by celebrities. I saw Tavi and I kid you not, I almost started crying. And it takes a lot to make me cry. I told her how much a worship her and she was so honored. I don't remember exactly how she responded, but it seemed very genuine. Amy Rose was sitting right next to her and heard everything I'd said, and when I'd finished and Tavi placed my copy of the Yearbook into Amy Rose's lap, she said, "You're so sweet. Gimme a hug." So I hugged her, my arms full of a huge pink bag of crap and a Sports Authority plastic bag housing an obnoxiously bright orange shoebox, both of which definitely hit someone. I apologized for my physical awkwardness, but no one seemed to care that I'd whacked them with a cardboard prism. 

The moral of the story is: I love Rookie, and so can you. 

[Photos by me.]

Amy Rose kicked off the night of Yearbook-excerpt reading with a piece she wrote about her love of The Smiths. She confidently rocked a cut-up tee shirt, exposed cheetah print bra, and a floral print apron while talking about how Morrissey's lyrics became the foundation of one weird night with a college guy.

Jenny Zhang, a writer and poet (and obviously a Rookie contributor) that grew up around my general neighborhood and read a surprisingly beautiful fiction piece. I have recently invested a lot of time into reading her work on the Interwebz, but I intend to get my hands on her poetry book soon.

Yes, that is Lena Dunham, sitting mere feet away from me talking about her Millenium Journal and all of the crazy things she thought were important in the year 2000. 

The girl-band Supercute! playing some really jammin' tunes on their ukeleles and that cool box-drum-seat hybrid, despite the fact that I am usually opposed to ukeleles. They're actually really cool, and--get this--super cute. 

Tavi. Fuqing. Gevinson. Does she or does she not look like a dark Wiccan princess hiding many secrets in her endless braid? She read an excerpt of her famous piece, "How to Not Care What Other People Think of You."

If you still can't comprehend how incredible this night was, let me put it this way: I wasn't even hungry. I am that person who is often hungry but doesn't usually do anything about it because I am very scheduled when it comes to eating so when I don't eat according to my regular timetable the world turns upside down. I plan my day around my meals. The fact that I was not hungry means that my emotions surpassed the standardized needs of my stomach. 

As if this post wasn't already long enough, here's your Sunday playlist. Rookie-themed, of course. 


Have a Rookie week. Just have one.