I still do have the little lunch bag that my mother made out of a towel and embroidered with my name on it for when I went to kindergarten.
I like Thomas Jefferson, though he intimidated me. I thought he would have been very tough to be around. I don’t know if he had such a sense of humor.
You’d have to be completely crazy not to be influenced by and take from other artists. It’s completely impossible not to.
A visit to a museum is a search for beauty, truth, and meaning in our lives. Go to museums as often as you can.
Every Monday morning is new hope.
I have many questions, but no patience to think them through.
Wonderful things happen when your brain is empty.
It’s almost impossible to reconcile the realities of how one feels during the day, hour by hour. But I approach things not cynically.
I live in a small world of gouache and brush and pen and ink. I’d like to explore the world of multiples – etching and prints.
My sister is an artist and an interior designer. She went to high school for art. I went to high school for music.
My workspace is defined by books, ephemera, quiet and light. I don’t have a computer, telephone or a fax machine there.
Michael Pollan is a champion. In all ways. A man of great integrity, humor, and common sense and kindness.
Isn’t that the only way to curate a life? To live among things that make you gasp with delight?
If you go too fast you might not notice everything. On the other hand, you don’t want to be late.
All terrific but the people. THE PEOPLE. Everyone looks so exalted, or so wretched, or so spiffy, so funny, so splendid. If you are ever bored or blue, stand on the street corner for half an hour.
Useless and precious objects. Taking up space. Taking up time.
The ability to take a walk from one point to the next point, that is half the battle won.
I don’t want to trudge up insane mountains or through war-torn lands. Just a nice stroll through the hill and dale. But now I walk everywhere in the city. Any city. You see everything you need to see in a lifetime. Every emotion. Every condition. Every fashion. Every glory.
I read obituaries first thing in the morning. With a cup of coffee. This is NOT MORBID. Just epic. Maybe it’s a way of trying to figure out, before the day begins, what is important. And I am curious about all the little things that make up life. Little?
The pieces I chose were based on one thing only – a gasp of delight. Isn’t that the only way to curate a life?
And it is very true that the most tender, complicated, most generous part of our being blossoms without any effort, when it comes to the love of a dog.