I wait for 12o'clock on Tuesdays and Thursdays and Fridays. Once when there were still White Pages I looked up Woody Allen's mother. It was about 1978. I told her she must be very proud. She said "of course I am but what is the point."
How we find connections to ourselves through things, like clothes is so unique to each of us. And how we let them go, sometimes inexplicably, might as well be a mystery. Beautiful piece.
I love the idea of inhabiting the London Fog (what a find!) and connecting to the Lake District Poets. Juju. And the image of a box somewhere, with Mark Rothko's coat, wrapped in tissue, labelled. Thanks as always.
I adore art history and studied it in college, plus, my father grew up on the lower east side so I have roots in NYC, despite living in the Midwest all my life. Reading your work, in particular your references to the above mentioned topics, feels like home to me. I love you.
So many coats in the Valley of Lost Things! The one I regret losing is the cherry and black plaid Harris Tweed jacket that had belonged to my mother. She wore it to church and on evenings out; I wore it with jeans and heavy boots. I wonder who is wearing it now?
I wonder if anyone has ever told you what a fine writer you are. xo
I miss the Flatiron Building.
As a young boy I always wanted to see it when we went to the City.
I feel myself melting into your poetic prose.
I wait for 12o'clock on Tuesdays and Thursdays and Fridays. Once when there were still White Pages I looked up Woody Allen's mother. It was about 1978. I told her she must be very proud. She said "of course I am but what is the point."
a chance encounter, and what timing...no wonder it is such a vivid memory
Images were jumping off the screen as I read. Beautiful 💜
I wonder who found your coat...
So much beauty packed into those paragraphs Patti. You never cease to amaze me. I have never been to the Rothko chapel. I wonder if you have.
How we find connections to ourselves through things, like clothes is so unique to each of us. And how we let them go, sometimes inexplicably, might as well be a mystery. Beautiful piece.
Ah the coats I've loved and lost just as inexplicably 😊
It's nice to travel with you back to the early days of *PEACE* & *LOVE.* Thanks for another great ride.
I love the idea of inhabiting the London Fog (what a find!) and connecting to the Lake District Poets. Juju. And the image of a box somewhere, with Mark Rothko's coat, wrapped in tissue, labelled. Thanks as always.
Powerful to juxtapose the imagery of leaving your coat one day and Rothko choosing to leave us.
Beautiful. Love Rothko. I wish someone would have given me Rimbaud and Kerouac when I was 17.
I adore art history and studied it in college, plus, my father grew up on the lower east side so I have roots in NYC, despite living in the Midwest all my life. Reading your work, in particular your references to the above mentioned topics, feels like home to me. I love you.
So many coats in the Valley of Lost Things! The one I regret losing is the cherry and black plaid Harris Tweed jacket that had belonged to my mother. She wore it to church and on evenings out; I wore it with jeans and heavy boots. I wonder who is wearing it now?