Solitude

"La Toilette" (1896), by Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec

Though I value my time with friends and family, I need private space and ample opportunity to think through things on my own. I used to see this as a fault of mine, this inability to cope with reality while in the frequent presence of others, but now I suspect that it's a universal condition. I believe that each of us needs time alone, even removed from those we love the most. As Henri Nouwen wrote,

"Solitude is the furnace of transformation. Without solitude we remain victims of our society and continue to be entangled in the illusions of the false self."

In the past, I've resorted to all manor of elaborate escape seeking solitude, from fleeing the hemisphere to spending time in a monastery. For the foreseeable future, however, that kind of exodus is impossible. Enter "the Man Cave".

For the last six months or more - and concluding today - I've been working on my Man Cave, formerly a one-bedroom apartment in the basement complete with bathroom and kitchen. The details of this seemingly endless campaign are too boring even for friends who care, but the tasks have included painting, electrical work, tiling, trim installation and threatening legal action against various suppliers and contractors.

I am reminded of a wonderful passage on the subject in the book, "The Winter of Our Discontent", by John Steinbeck:

"It has no name in my mind except the Place - no ritual or formula or anything. It's a spot in which to wonder about things. No man really knows about other human beings. The best he can do is to suppose that they are like himself. Now, sitting in the Place, out of the wind, seeing under the guardian lights the tide creep in, black from the dark sky, I wondered whether all men have a Place, or need a Place, or want one and have none. Sometimes, I've seen a look in eyes, a frenzied animal look as of need for a quiet, secret place where soul-shivers can abate, where a man is one and can take stock of it."

So true.

What I've observed over the last several years is that contemporary American society does not readily tolerate a "professional" man's need for occasional solitude. At present, it is more acceptable for women to step away in order to rediscover or reinvent themselves (witness the huge success of the indulgently self-oriented book, "Eat, Pray, Love"), but men today who seek solitude as a source of strength and peace are considered apathetic, unfocused and unreliable. It remains the case that the extraordinary work of Jesus Christ, Martin Luther King, Jr., and Mahatma Ghandi (not to mention Hitler, and let's not) all included significant periods of isolation and quiet contemplation.

But I ramble. The best book on the subject that I can suggest - and I do - is "Solitude: A Return to the Self" by Anthony Storr.

Get away.

Chimney Rock

This amazing photograph was taken by Ken Johnson, and records the lunar standstill at Chimney Rock (Colorado). Read this article to learn how this particular celestial event may have played an important role in the location of certain Anasazi structures. Click on the photo for a larger version.

The Technological Imperative

"The Scream" (1893), by Edvard Munch

I was watching the trailer for the film Naqoyqatsi and noted the tagline, "There is no more nature. There is only technology." That assertion made me think about the tense relationship between the two, and how the modern world is caught somewhere in the middle.

When philosophers invoke "the technological imperative", they refer to two closely related ideas that try to describe how human beings have come to perceive technology:

1) Once technological advances have been made, further progression is inevitable. In this sense, technological growth - and man's embrace of it - is unavoidable and can not be reversed. For example, can you imagine a future world in which people desired black and white televisions and gravel roads? How about one that rejected the use of antibiotics or tractors? Interestingly, while our society as a whole seems to accept that technological progress is inescapable, some individuals still attempt to moderate the impact of its onward march. Consider that Amtrak now carries a single "quiet car" on most northeastern routes in which cell phones can not be used, and some couples avoid pharmaceutical birth control strictly because it is "unnatural".

2) If something can be done (if it is technically possible), then it ought to be done. The most oft cited example of this view was the French politician Jacques Soustelle who said of the atomic bomb, "Since it was possible, it was necessary." This second view goes beyond the first notion of inevitability by suggesting a moral imperative. Therefore, if we can go to Mars, we ought to. If we can keep a man alive for 200 years, we ought to. If we can find a technical solution to a problem (perhaps one that has a compelling human or spiritual solution), we ought to employ technology.

Should we, really?

I am a big fan of technology, but I am increasingly wary of its influence on our lives, specifically the way in which it separates us from nature and deprives us of authentic human experience. Or, as Max Frisch put it,

“Technology is a way of organizing the universe so that man doesn’t have to experience it.”

What is "natural" and how much of our existence should include this quality, even at the expense of efficiency? I can't say that I know for sure. Email is fantastic, but we should weigh the value of a typewritten letter with the value of a face-to-face encounter. Does checking the weather online provide us the same connection to the earth as going outside and taking measurements - and does that matter? Is the use of a stethoscope really as valuable as a doctor putting his ear on your chest? Maybe, and maybe not.

The painting above is "The Scream" (1893), by Edvard Munch. In his diary, Munch wrote of this day, "... my friends walked on, and there I still stood, trembling with fear - and I sensed an endless scream passing through nature." I believe that it was good for Munch to feel nature's cry. I doubt that he would have had the same experience watching this sunset on television.

Merry Christmas

This icon is one of several that can be found here.

Opus

Opus, by Berkeley Breathed.

Merry Christmas to all you penguin lovers out there.

Offloading for Mrs. Schwartz

Elephants never forget.
Video found on the French website CUBE.

My favorite collection of short stories (which has nothing to do with elephants, but does have something to do with forgetting) is called, "Civilwarland in Bad Decline" by George Saunders. One of the more touching pieces from that book was originally printed in The New Yorker on October 5, 1992 (Tina Brown's first edition) and is called, "Offloading for Mrs. Schwartz".

This is a story about a man whose job is the memory trade, and his relationship with an elderly shut-in named Mrs. Ken Schwartz. Take a few minutes to listen to the story as read by the author on NPR's This American Life. The story itself begins at the 17:48 mark. Listening is free.

Homemade Sin

"Cheerios 1, 2, and 3", by Honor Marks.

I eat for many reasons, though these justifications seem derived mostly from two contesting paradigms: 1) It's good for me, and 2) It makes me feel good. More often than not, the extent to which some morsel is nutritious is inversely proportional to the degree of comfort it provides. At this time of year, I value health less than good cheer, and so I expand. I suppose that my diet is better than heroin or glue, but probably not by much. Besides, God gave us New Year's resolutions.

I have become more and more interested in cooking over the last several years. At first, I just wanted to get into a kitchen, and maybe "make something with my hands" (for once), so I volunteered to bake bread at my local Great Harvest Bread Company. Once I moved back to Atlanta, I began working as a Chef's Assistant at The Cook's Warehouse. This program lets one attend their very expensive cooking classes for free, in exchange for helping the primary chef prepare ingredients, teach the class, and clean up.

Anywho, while my thoughts are on food, and my waist, I wanted to share the following recipe. It's my favorite snack at Christmastime - my mother used to make this stuff by the metric ton. It's very simple to throw together, and it will boost your morale. Trust me.

"Homemade Sin"

• 18 Square graham crackers, crushed (put them in a zipper bag, squeeze out the air, & smash them in the bag)
• 6 oz. package of semi-sweet chocolate chips (or, try dark chocolate.)
• 6 oz. package of butterscotch morsels
• 1 cup chopped nuts (pecans or walnuts)
• 1 can sweetened condensed milk

My mother's instructions, "Mix everything together in a bowl. Turn the mixture into a very well greased (butter) 8" or 9" square pan for 25-30 minutes in a 350 degree oven. It should not get too hard while baking; just brown the top. It will look a little soft but will firm up some as it cools. Cool thoroughly before cutting into squares."

The art at the top of this page is by Honor Marks. Cheerios 1, 2 & 3 are three separate paintings presented as one triptych. Check out Honor's website for more wonderful work.

Hallelujah

One of the songs that has touched me the most over the last several years is the Leonard Cohen song, "Hallelujah". I became aware of John Cale's version (what I still consider the best) while curled up on the couch watching the show "Scrubs", and it brought me to tears. Above is the song as it appears in that episode, "My old lady". Cale's 1991 studio recording is surprisingly hard to get a hold of (mine came off of the 1996 Basquiat Soundtrack), but you can see a live performance below.

Over the years, and more often recently, this song has been recorded by a large number of people. Click here for a truly wonderful version by Jeff Buckley from the 1994 album Grace, vaguely reminiscent of the Cowboy Junkies' Trinity Sessions.

One cave at a time.

One of my former students, a U.S. Marine, doing the nation's business in Iraq. Photo taken by embedded reporter. Click on the photo for a much larger version.

Wassily Kandinsky

"Composition VII" (1913), by Wassily Kandinsky

Wassily Kandinsky's work is lovely to me. Colorful, fun, complex and almost entirely meaningless. Yes, yes, I know that to art purists the world over, hard core abstraction is rich and full of... whatever it's full of, but to me, it is solely aesthetic. I simply look, and enjoy. Make a point to see the large collection held by the Centre Georges Pompidou in Paris. (Click on either image for a larger version.)

"Yellow, Red, Blue" (1925), by Wassily Kandinsky

Regina Spektor

Regina Spektor's breakout album "Begin to Hope" was released in 2006 with the catchy single (and creative video) Fidelity, and rightfully made several critic's Top Ten lists. Her music is all at once sophisticated and childlike, melancholy and whimsical. Her voice is lovely, cutting and unique. This particular album is one of the extraordinary few to which I never tire of listening. The video above, "Us", is from an older album called "Soviet Kitsch". While not my favorite song, I think it gives the best example of her range and musical innovation. The video below, "On the radio", is from "Begin to Hope". Be sure to check out this version of the hit "Better", "Sampson", and the rest of her video postings on YouTube.com. And, if you click here, you can listen to an 80 minute concert broadcast on NPR using RealAudio. Good stuff.

Analemma

"Analemma Over New Jersey"
Tom Matheson of Guidescope.net

I found this wonderful slide show on the website, "Astronomy Picture of The Day". Here is the description taken from that page:

An analemma is that figure-8 curve that you get when you mark the position of the Sun at the same time each day throughout planet Earth's year. Above, 26 separate exposures were recorded to illustrate the regular solar motion -- a difficult project performed mostly during the calendar year 2006. The images were taken at 8 am in the morning in northern New Jersey, USA, and digitally combined with a single foreground image later. The individual images have since been combined into a movie. Solstices correspond to the top and bottom of the figure-8, indicating the northern and southernmost excursions of the Sun in the sky. The tilt of planet Earth's axis and the variation in speed as it moves around its orbit combine to produce the graceful analemma curve.

Here are several others taken directly from Astronomy Picture of the Day:

"The Analemma and the Temple of Olympian Zeus"
Anthony Ayiomamitis

"Solar Eclipse Analemma"
by Tunc Tezel and Cenk E. Tezel

"Martian Analemma"
Dennis Mammana of Skyscapes.com
(This last image is a simulation.)

Hope III

"Child in a Straw Hat" (1886), by Mary Cassatt

It's gonna be a girl. A confident, spirited girl.

Hermann Hesse

I've never made my peace with Hesse, though I've tried throughout several of his novels, from Demien, to Siddhartha, to The Steppenwolf. I don't agree with his belief that salvation is uncovered from within the self-realized individual, nor with the resulting disdain for religion, but I relate to his disgust at societal convention, and the general sense of separateness and isolation that modern life breeds.

It is Hesse's poetic style that impresses me the most. There are times when the reader feels more like he is holding a book of poetry than a novel. Here is a passage from The Steppenwolf, a book so powerful that one of my closest friends has a Steppenwolf tattoo on his upper arm:

"There is much to be said for contentment and painlessness, for these bearable and submissive days, on which neither pain nor pleasure cry out, on which everything only whispers and tiptoes around. But the worst of it is that it is just this contentment that I cannot endure. After a short time it fills me with irrepressible loathing and nausea. Then, in desperation, I have to escape into other regions, if possible on the road to pleasure, or, if that cannot be, on the road to pain. When I have neither pleasure nor pain and have been breathing for a while the lukewarm insipid air of these so-called good and tolerable days, I feel so bad in my childish soul that I smash my rusty lyre of thanksgiving in the face of the slumbering god of contentment and would rather feel the most devilish pain burn in me than this warmth of a well-heated room. A wild longing for strong emotions and sensations seethes in me, a rage against this toneless, flat, normal and sterile life. I have a mad impulse to smash something, a warehouse perhaps, or a cathedral, or myself, to commit outrages, to pull off the wigs of a few revered idols, to provide for a few rebellious schoolboys with the longed-for ticket to Hamburg, to seduce a little girl, or to stand one or two representatives of the established order on their heads. For what I always hated and detested and cursed above all things was this contentment, this healthiness and comfort, this carefully preserved optimism of the middle classes, this fat and prosperous brood of mediocrity."

"The Holidays"

As The United States approaches "the holiday season", I feel my psyche begin to harden (as it does every year) in large part due to my anticipation of the abundant arrogance and emptiness that our culture will express through rampant consumerism over the next several weeks. Put another way, I am a Christian, and I hate the "celebration" of Christmas precisely because the two have so little to do with each other. For the sake of all that IS good in the world, Christmas as we know it should be driven out of existence.

These shouldn't be radical ideas: This Thanksgiving, try telling people how thankful you are for them. It's not easy, but loved ones are too precious and too easily lost. For Christmas, direct your gifts toward people who NEED, not those who WANT. Give creatively and generously (and anonymously, if you can) to the poor, and share a drink with the rest. For Christians, "The Spirit of Christmas" is summed up in John 3:16, not in dollars. You can convey that love without stressing out, without spending a dime, without fighting the crowds, and without becoming part of The Problem.

To be clear, I am a market capitalist, but no like-minded economic theorist sees unchecked capitalism (or utilitarianism, for that matter) as a pure good. Mill and Bentham both, for example, assumed one such limitation when they presupposed the individual possessing a principled set of moral values and skills that fundamentally governed his behavior. Even in the face of aggressive pressure, these foundational notions would bring about balanced, rational decisions in the marketplace. Without this cohesive set of external and primary beliefs, we get what most people call "consumerism", which is a self-referential set of principles derived from the material goods themselves. This is what makes me hurt.

Regret

"Melancholy" (1891), by Edvard Munch

Love is so short, forgetting is so long. Pablo Neruda

It took me less than half a lifetime to realize that regret is one of the few guaranteed certainties. Sooner or later everything is touched by it, despite our naive and sensless hope that just this time we will be spared its cold hand on our heart. Jonathan Carroll

Regret for the things we did can be tempered by time; it is regret for the things we did not do that is inconsolable. Sydney Smith

If only. Those must be the two saddest words in the world. Mercedes Lackey

Accept life, and you must accept regret. Henri Frederic Amiel

To regret deeply is to live afresh. Henry David Thoreau

My one regret in life is that I am not someone else. Woody Allen

Only connect...

The first time I found a home in literature was when I read E. M. Forster's "Howard's End" in 1992. In this work, I discovered a link to eternal truths that I did not know existed. Here was a writer that could be all at once humorous ("... he had no guiding principle beyond a certain preference for mediocrity"), cutting ("The more people one knows, the easier it becomes to replace them"), practical ("Money is the fruit of self-denial") and profound ("Death destroys a man, but the idea of death saves him... Squalor and tragedy can beckon to all that is great in us"). I was completely undone by the complex beauty of his poetic prose, and the essential clarity of his thought. It may have taken me three months or more to crawl through the 250 page novel - my original copy is overwhelmed by yellow highlights and margin notes - as I contemplated every single word, but the experience of reading this book was transformational. Here are two of the better known passages:

"... she might yet be able to help him to the building of the rainbow bridge that should connect the prose in us with the passion. Without it, we are meaningless fragments, half monks, half beasts, unconnected arches that have never joined into a man. With it, love is born, and alights on the highest curve, glowing against the grey, sober against the fire. Happy the man who sees from either aspect the glory of these outspread wings. The roads of his soul lie clear, and he and his friends shall find easy going... It did not seem so difficult. She need trouble him with no gift of her own. She would only point out the salvation that was latent in his own soul, and the soul of every man. Only connect! That was the whole of her sermon. Only connect the prose and the passion, and both will be exalted, and human love will be seen at its height. Live in fragments no longer. Only connect, and the beast and the monk, robbed of the isolation that is life to either, will die."

"The business man who assumes that this life is everything, and the mystic who asserts that it is nothing, fail, on this side and that, to hit the truth. "Yes, I see, dear; it's about halfway between," Aunt Juley had hazarded in earlier years. No; truth, being alive, was not halfway between anything. It was only to be found by continuous excursions into either realm, and though proportion is the final secret, to espouse it at the outset is to ensure sterility."

Beer

A dear friend of mine concludes her story about how she came to realize and accept her attraction to other women by pointing out that this occurred long after her graduation from an all-girl's school. Or, as she puts it: "What a waste."

I feel that way about beer.

In this spirit, I quote the immortal words of Homer Simpson, who once said,

"I like my beer cold, my TV loud, and my homosexuals flaming."

I went to a college at which beer was literally cheaper than water. In fact, William Faulkner wrote that,

"At Harvard they teach you how to go for a swim at night without knowing how to swim, and at Sewanee they don't even teach you what water is."

... but I didn't like beer. In the years after school, many of my closest friends tried their best to intervene on the side of beer (I was a cider, bourbon and wine drinker - no, not at the same time), but I still couldn't make my mouth cross over. For reasons lost to the ages, I never tried to develop a taste for beer until the summer of 2006, at which time I undertook a very intentional training exercise in Bali, Indonesia. Over the duration of that trip, I had one beer a day for several weeks (well, it was one beer a day until the idea caught on, and then it was... more than one) and came home with the love. Now, I get it. At present, my beers of choice are Blue Moon, Bass, Harp, and many of the Mexican beers. Certainly, there are dangers to this love affair, but I mourn all those wasted years...

Edward Hopper in DC

"Room in New York" (1932), by Edward Hopper

The National Gallery of Art in Washington, DC, is hosting an exhibition of Edward Hopper's work until January 21, 2008. This collection contains my favorite Hopper painting.

This past Thursday, I was able to sneak into the exhibit with only 35 minutes before the museum closed. (It's unjust that the National Gallery closes at 5 in the afternoon, the exact time that many taxpayers get off work, but I digress further.) Because of the late hour, I was unable to hear the audio tour, nor watch the overview video, which is narrated by Steve Martin. No matter. It was still the most extraordinary 35 minutes I've spent in many weeks - some thrilling combination of sensuality and wonder. I will be going back as soon as I can.

The Flying Karamazov Brothers

I began to love juggling as I watched Steve Russell perform twice a week (for sixteen weeks) when I worked for American Hawaii Cruises. It wasn't long before I found myself drawn to The Flying Karamazov Brothers, a truly amazing group of entertainers / jugglers. If you have an opportunity to see them perform, take it. They will be in Atlanta in January.

William Henry Channing

"To live content with small means;
to seek elegance rather than luxury, and refinement rather than fashion;
to be worthy, not respectable, and wealthy, not rich;
to listen to stars and birds, babes and sages, with open heart;
to study hard;
to think quietly, act frankly, talk gently, await occasions, hurry never;
in a word, to let the spiritual, unbidden and unconscious, grow up through the common
-- this is my symphony."

Painting: Andrew Wyeth's "Christina's World", 1948.

Adventure Cycling

I took up road cycling about three years ago when I lived in Annapolis and have loved every minute of it. I don't think I'm any happier than when I am on my bike and heading out on a long ride (here in Atlanta, that's usually on the Silver Comet Trail). One of my life's goals is to cycle across the United States, and when I pull it off, it will be because of the good folks at Adventure Cycling. I have been a member of Adventure Cycling since I bought my current bike, and have found their website and publications to be first rate. I'm afraid that now the weather is such that I won't be riding outdoors anymore this year, but I do have a set of rollers that keep me ready to hit the road (and scared to death of falling off).

Leo Kottke

Leo Kottke is the first guitarist I ever cared about. His impact on the genre of acoustic guitar since his debut "Armadillo" album in 1969 (actually titled "6 and 12 String Guitar") can not be underestimated. Often referred to as "a guitar player's guitarist", Kottke's playing has to be seen to be believed (otherwise, you might presume you are listening to more than one musician). This particular video, as I understand it from the original YouTube posting, is from German television in the 1970s. It's worth every second of the 5:51 running time, as it builds and builds until your mind pops. Here is a link to another video (one of poor quality) that will give you a good idea of what it's like to see him in concert.

Michael Sowa

"Pompeii" by Michael Sowa

Michael Sowa is a contemporary German artist (born 1945) with a style that may remind you of the Gary Larson cartoon, "The Far Side". Such comparisons are frequently made, but Sowa's work seems to be sweeter somehow, more poignant and more detailed. It is all at once quiet and whimsical and expectant, like you just walked in on someone happy who thought he was acting in secret. When I look at his work, I just feel better. You may have seen Sowa's art on display in the French film, "Amelie", the perfect showcase. The pictures copied here all have German names that I won't begin to translate.

Vampire

While often identified as "Vampire",
this painting by Edvard Munch is properly titled
"Love and Pain" (1893-1894).

Does she love and comfort as she takes his life? Does he hope to die in her arms? Mr. Munch certainly believes that there is pain in love.

Steve Russell

One of the truly exceptional human beings on this planet is Steve Russell. When performing with his wonderful wife Kobi Shaw, they form the juggling team In Capable Hands. This former Clown College professor has performed on The Tonight Show, and most recently, in the New York City Opera's production of Pagliacci. You can see Steve and Kobi in action by looking at these YouTube postings. There's also a great video on Steve's booking agent's pages. You never knew how badly you needed a juggler around until you've met Steve.

More hope

After my original post "hope", I was reminded that Gustav Klimt had the same idea, twice:

"Hope, I" (1903) by Gustav Klimt

"Hope, II" (1907 - 1908) by Gustav Klimt

hope

"Baby in Repose"

You have to look carefully, but the moment before this photo was taken, the baby put its hands behind its head, and crossed its legs. That's a footprint you see...

December 3, 2007: Click for an update to this post.

Pavarotti and Brown

Yes, really. On the all-time top five list of most unlikely duets, this one has got to be near the top. I have no idea who came up with the idea, nor what they had in mind, but what's shocking is how extremely well it works. James' wide, toothy grin and constant genuflecting show that he is clearly touched both by the presence of Luciano and the beauty of his voice. From looking at his face, it's less clear that Luciano knew what singing with The Godfather of Soul (The Hardest Working Man in Show Business) really meant, but still puts a powerful energy into his performance.

Three

All Cleaned Up

The Truslow Family, April 14, 2007

Mepkin Abbey

The Gardens of Mepkin Abbey
Moncks Corner, South Carolina

Automat

"Automat" (1927), by Edward Hopper

This is my favorite Edward Hopper image, and as you may know, I have a large version of it in my study. It was used by TIME magazine for a cover story on depression (August 28, 1995), but I don't associate Hopper's work with being sad or melancholy (as he said, "The loneliness thing is overdone"). In much of his art, Hopper seems to convey that human solitude can also be necessary, liberating, and even tranquil.

I fondly remember a conversation I had with Allan Jones, the painter. We were trying to figure out why Hopper's work often seemed to express a void or a vacuum. Allan pointed out that what many of these paintings are missing is the viewer himself. For example, here Hopper gives you an empty chair to sit in, if you want. Wouldn't you like to come in and be quiet for a while?

Two Women at a Window

"Two Women at a Window" (1670), by Bartolome Esteban Murillo
Currently at the National Gallery of Art (U.S.A.)

If I come with you, will we have wonderful adventures together?
Will you be alive with me?

Theodore Roosevelt

Peace is normally a great good, and normally
it coincides with righteousness,
but it is righteousness
and not peace
which should bind the conscience of a nation
as it should bind the conscience of an individual;
and neither a nation
nor an individual
can surrender conscience
to another's keeping.

Virtue

"Calvin and Hobbes", written and drawn by Bill Watterson
(click on image for larger version)

Der Kuss

"Der Kuss" (1907/1908), by Gustav Klimt

Sonnet XLIII

What lips my lips have kissed, and where, and why,
I have forgotten, and what arms have lain
Under my head till morning; but the rain
Is full of ghosts tonight, that tap and sigh
Upon the glass and listen for reply,
And in my heart there stirs a quiet pain
For unremembered lads that not again
Will turn to me at midnight with a cry.
Thus in the winter stands the lonely tree,
Nor knows what birds have vanished one by one,
Yet knows its boughs more silent than before:
I cannot say what loves have come and gone,
I only know that summer sang in me
A little while, that in me sings no more.

by Edna St. Vincent Millay

Where insanity meets genius

These are two of my favorite images of all time. The intensity of these self portraits serves as evidence of the fine line between genius and insanity.

"Self portrait", 1887

"Self-portrait", dedicated to Paul Gauguin (1888)

Flannery Evelyn and Percy Katherine

Flannery Evelyn and Percy Katherine (2004)

The Great Flydini

Madonna

"Madonna" (1894-1895), by Edvard Munch

Animals

Have you forgotten what we were like then
when we were still first rate
and the day came fat with an apple in its mouth

it's no use worrying about Time
but we did have a few tricks up our sleeves
and turned some sharp corners

the whole pasture looked like our meal
we didn't need speedometers
we could manage cocktails out of ice and water

I wouldn't want to be faster
or greener than now if you were with me O you
were the best of all my days

by Frank O'Hara

Djimon with Octopus

"Djimon with Octopus, Hollywood, 1989"
by Herb Ritts

Old Friends

Terance Fowler, John Truslow, and Jennifer Lantz
April 13, 2007

32 years of friendship, and counting

Richard Nixon and Elvis Presley

Richard Nixon and Elvis Presley (December 21, 1970)

Robin (early on)

My lovely, talented, brilliant niece.

Stars

"Stars" (1926), by Maxfield Parrish

Truslow Gothic

John Jr. and Patti Truslow, July 2006