Time (backwards and forwards)

I'm turning 48 next week. That's all fine, but in my mind I'm still, er, 'forever 21', as if every late halycon afternoon were eternal and I could go recline under a tree and read Bronte or Emerson and never worried about the future. And the future arrived like slow moving clouds. A quarter of a century later and I go to the mirror and I see late adulthood coming on. It's a little depressing. I look to some friends in their 70's and note how good and healthy for themselves. They are still engaged and interested in life. Mitch, the 92-year old man near my house, spends much of his time carving wooden birds and gardening. Maybe his halycon afternoons when he was a young man were filled of that.

I was listening to Modern English's 'After The Snow'. Besides the single "I Melt With You", which is now inseparable from the 1980s in pop culture, but the rest of the moody, austere record does it for me. Right now I am listening to Tycho's playlist online. Great stuff. Would I have listened to music like this when I was young and discovering Modern English for the first time? Yes, I believe so.
I started a painting last night and was thrilled with the idea of it. I continued working on it today but something was lost. I think I felt more excited that I was able to let go of my usual, more predictable way of painting. Maybe it was too much. It evolved faster than I could get there. I removed as much paint as I could (an interesting image from removing the paint) and put two fresh coats of gesso over it and will start again.

It's hard to believe, but it's been 10 years since my trip to Paris. It was the first time I ever ventured outside of the United States. I had no idea what I was doing, but that unknown sense of adventure and risk made it seem even more thrilling. I taught myself as much colloquial French as I could. Sadly, when I got there, it was easier to navigate than I ever dreamed. In ways, it was like the USA in an alternate universe--enough similiar and enough different.

By the 4th or 5th day I was bored and ready to leave. I happened upon St. Germain (across from Deux Maggots) during Holy Saturday services. I took communion, but I was not Catholic. I looked up and on the ceiling was a fresco of St. John the Baptist. It seemed to me that was when I decided that I would to become Roman Catholic, but it would take three more years before it actually happened.

I finally got to hear some of the new Daft Punk record (Random Access Memories) that they have been promoting to death for the past two months. It sounds like Chic-meets-robots.