I realized recently that it's coming on two years now that I've bee keeping this blog (rather un-diligently, I'm afraid), and since I'm not entirely the same person that I was two years ago, neither should my greatest connection with the world-at-large. So, welcome to "vivre sans bruit", a name which I may change in the next few weeks but, nonetheless, pleases me now. Same URL, brand new story. Spring cleaning all around.
I admit this frequently, I know, but I am a VERY BAD BLOG MOMMY. I can complain till the cows come home about how much I hate it when bloggers post infrequently, but let's face it, I am the worst of the bunch. But, I'm hoping that maybe a little change of scenery will fix that.
This next month is going to be a very busy, very fruitful one for me, and I will do my very best to keep this blog updated, even through the chaos. This weekend is the Sarah Lawrence Poetry Festival, and before I leave for California in May, there will be research projects finished, new ones begun, concerts and readings attended, birthdays celebrated, and spring to enjoy. But I've made a pact with myself to carry my camera around with me more frequently so that when the inspiration to blog strikes, I will be armed and ready with new, lovely photographs.
For now, I want only to direct my readers to some new links in my blogs list--I have been more than fortunate this year to become close with a community of creative people here in Bronxville and Brooklyn who share with me a very unique set of aesthetic tastes, living styles, and artistic ambitions, and, those that I could, I have added to my links. This spring has been a time of great creative growth and a flourishing of community projects that I have been so thrilled to be a part of, and which help me gain hope and faith once again in my generation's ability to rethink art as we have known it for the last fifty years. I will be sure to make announcements as each of these are finished. Unfortunately, I have decided to disable my poetry blog for now due to complications in formatting my pieces in an HTML context, but I am exploring new options on this front and hope to get it figured out for good over the summer.
So, here's to spring cleaning, and to new beginnings.
Love to all,
Jules
Showing posts with label inspiration. Show all posts
Showing posts with label inspiration. Show all posts
14 April 2011
11 May 2010
We All Want to Grow with the Seeds We Will Sow...
And once again, I type this rather weary post from the floor of the JFK airport, for the last time in this, my first year in New York. It seems as though I have been in the act of "going home" for several weeks now. And, I suppose, I have. Boxes have been mailed home, bedding and such has been stored away in a unit in Brooklyn, and my (giant!) suitcases are stowed away until my flight departs. I'm through with most of my work now, with only a few things to be mailed off early next week. I can say now that I've been inducted into the league of true college procrastinators--I've only slept an accumulation of about six hours in the last three days. It's a new record for me, I believe, but I'm feeling alright. Just don't expect me to pick up the phone in the next four days while I sleep this mess off.
However, the stress of the end-of-semester rush was tempered by frequent artistic encounters that made it all worth while, the most exciting of which, was of course, the Jónsi show that kept my dove in New York for an extra week after his semester ended, the show that will divide my life into periods of "before" and "after."
(photo of stage animation found here)
Saturday night's concert was indescribable. Of course I have been haunting the internet for decent videos that capture how that night felt, but I've been startlingly disappointed with them all. If you want read reviews, see pictures and videos of the show, there are plenty here, on Jónsi's website. It was a rather short show for the most part, mainly selections from Go and other originals not on the album, but from the moment Jónsi quietly, seriously stepped on stage with his guitar and nothing else, in his white marching-band-jacket-turned-bower-bird, to play my favourite song, "Stars in Still Water," I was in tears, and remained thus for the remainder of the show. Every member of Jónsi's band was phenomenal, from the lovely Alex Somers, of course, to múm drummer, Ólafur Björn Ólafsson, to bassist Úlfur Hansson, to the rather unknown-before-now and positively brilliant percussionist, Thorvaldur Thór Thorvaldsson, who had so much raw animal energy that he nearly belonged on the animation screen on the stage.
Not only was the band brilliant, but show itself was unlike anything I've ever seen. The animations projected onto the sheet in the back--and the beautiful gridwork of antique window frames that was revealed when the sheet was dropped--as well as the broken, sooty glass frames and museum curio tanks was stunning. Each song was animated differently and the images bled seamlessly into one another with trees, falling snow, predatory chases, and flight. The structure of the set list was unusual, but very effective; Jónsi opened the show with a string of nearly all his slowest, moodiest ballads, building with xylophone solos up to colourful performances of the singles, "Go Do" and "Boy Lilikoi," then leapt straight into the cinematic, uplifting epics that crowd toward the middle of the recorded album, ending the main set with a thrilllingly delicate acoustic version of "Around Us," which was one of the most powerful things I've ever witnessed.
The good news is that there were cameras all over the stage--a good sign that there may be a tour DVD! No recording can compare to the live show (even Jónsi's voice is that much more ethereal and angelic on a live stage), but God, would I love to have any kind of reminder of that night.
M. Benjamin and I also spread a bit of our own art that night--we sent the fist copy of our limited-edition chapbook backstage to Jónsi and Alex as a gift. We hope that inspires them even 1/1214 the amount that they have inspired us.
This time of the year I am consistently drawn to music and art that feels like growth, feels like new beginnings. I am drawn to music that reminds me that hope isn't so far away, and that it's okay to cling to it once in a while. Jónsi's album and tour has been just that for me; the dominant themes in the music and animation on stage were unfurling things, things outgrowing death, and their rebirth in colour. As the music swelled to it's ultimate peak in colour in flight--the collision of two animated hummingbirds that "broke them into blossom" as James Wright might say--I felt my own body regenerating itself after such a long emotional hibernation in New York. I could feel the go do in the swelling season. This is the beginning of the "Summer of Go Do."
Now, as I watch my last New York evening for several months fade from windy to golden, I look forward not only to a summer's worth of doing, but to a summer's worth of holding onto hope. I've long believed that most any intelligent, ethical person out there ends up a cynic--myself certainly included--but I don't think that we are fallen. There are always beautiful souls like Jónsi out there to remind us that even the trees, in the dead of winter, have the hope to bloom in the spring.
Here are some lyrics--these may no be the "officially" accurate ones, but that are the one that I hear and the ones that affect me.
"Stars in Still Water"
Put your clothes now out to dry;
it's early morning--
the day is unfolding ever so softly.
I will always be, oh, alive within.
It's a never-ending song that I sing alone:
I am awake.
The only one awake.
I see the sun break out--
it's loud--
no clouds, no crowds,
no one out, true...
Only that you...
Don't stop in still water.
Don't stop in still water.
Now the sun's in your eyes--
It dries away your tears.
Let the wind be the only one
to move you so gently.
I will always be, oh, alive within.
It's a never-ending song that I sing alone:
I am awake.
The only one awake.
I see the sun
grow faint--
it's late--
in shades we did the best we could...
Only that you...
I see stars in still water.
There are stars in still water.
However, the stress of the end-of-semester rush was tempered by frequent artistic encounters that made it all worth while, the most exciting of which, was of course, the Jónsi show that kept my dove in New York for an extra week after his semester ended, the show that will divide my life into periods of "before" and "after."
(photo of stage animation found here)Saturday night's concert was indescribable. Of course I have been haunting the internet for decent videos that capture how that night felt, but I've been startlingly disappointed with them all. If you want read reviews, see pictures and videos of the show, there are plenty here, on Jónsi's website. It was a rather short show for the most part, mainly selections from Go and other originals not on the album, but from the moment Jónsi quietly, seriously stepped on stage with his guitar and nothing else, in his white marching-band-jacket-turned-bower-bird, to play my favourite song, "Stars in Still Water," I was in tears, and remained thus for the remainder of the show. Every member of Jónsi's band was phenomenal, from the lovely Alex Somers, of course, to múm drummer, Ólafur Björn Ólafsson, to bassist Úlfur Hansson, to the rather unknown-before-now and positively brilliant percussionist, Thorvaldur Thór Thorvaldsson, who had so much raw animal energy that he nearly belonged on the animation screen on the stage.
Not only was the band brilliant, but show itself was unlike anything I've ever seen. The animations projected onto the sheet in the back--and the beautiful gridwork of antique window frames that was revealed when the sheet was dropped--as well as the broken, sooty glass frames and museum curio tanks was stunning. Each song was animated differently and the images bled seamlessly into one another with trees, falling snow, predatory chases, and flight. The structure of the set list was unusual, but very effective; Jónsi opened the show with a string of nearly all his slowest, moodiest ballads, building with xylophone solos up to colourful performances of the singles, "Go Do" and "Boy Lilikoi," then leapt straight into the cinematic, uplifting epics that crowd toward the middle of the recorded album, ending the main set with a thrilllingly delicate acoustic version of "Around Us," which was one of the most powerful things I've ever witnessed.
The good news is that there were cameras all over the stage--a good sign that there may be a tour DVD! No recording can compare to the live show (even Jónsi's voice is that much more ethereal and angelic on a live stage), but God, would I love to have any kind of reminder of that night.
M. Benjamin and I also spread a bit of our own art that night--we sent the fist copy of our limited-edition chapbook backstage to Jónsi and Alex as a gift. We hope that inspires them even 1/1214 the amount that they have inspired us.
This time of the year I am consistently drawn to music and art that feels like growth, feels like new beginnings. I am drawn to music that reminds me that hope isn't so far away, and that it's okay to cling to it once in a while. Jónsi's album and tour has been just that for me; the dominant themes in the music and animation on stage were unfurling things, things outgrowing death, and their rebirth in colour. As the music swelled to it's ultimate peak in colour in flight--the collision of two animated hummingbirds that "broke them into blossom" as James Wright might say--I felt my own body regenerating itself after such a long emotional hibernation in New York. I could feel the go do in the swelling season. This is the beginning of the "Summer of Go Do."
Now, as I watch my last New York evening for several months fade from windy to golden, I look forward not only to a summer's worth of doing, but to a summer's worth of holding onto hope. I've long believed that most any intelligent, ethical person out there ends up a cynic--myself certainly included--but I don't think that we are fallen. There are always beautiful souls like Jónsi out there to remind us that even the trees, in the dead of winter, have the hope to bloom in the spring.
Here are some lyrics--these may no be the "officially" accurate ones, but that are the one that I hear and the ones that affect me.
"Stars in Still Water"
Put your clothes now out to dry;
it's early morning--
the day is unfolding ever so softly.
I will always be, oh, alive within.
It's a never-ending song that I sing alone:
I am awake.
The only one awake.
I see the sun break out--
it's loud--
no clouds, no crowds,
no one out, true...
Only that you...
Don't stop in still water.
Don't stop in still water.
Now the sun's in your eyes--
It dries away your tears.
Let the wind be the only one
to move you so gently.
I will always be, oh, alive within.
It's a never-ending song that I sing alone:
I am awake.
The only one awake.
I see the sun
grow faint--
it's late--
in shades we did the best we could...
Only that you...
I see stars in still water.
There are stars in still water.
14 November 2009
Etsy Storque's Ten Ways to Change the World!
1. Decline plastic bags wherever possible.
2. Plant something.
3. Shop locally.
4. Give your change to charity.
5. Try watching less TV.
6. Turn off unnecessary lights.
7. Eat more meals together.
8. Use a mug, not a disposable cup.
9. Buy fair-trade products.
10. Write to someone who inspires you.
2. Plant something.
3. Shop locally.
4. Give your change to charity.
5. Try watching less TV.
6. Turn off unnecessary lights.
7. Eat more meals together.
8. Use a mug, not a disposable cup.
9. Buy fair-trade products.
10. Write to someone who inspires you.
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