Sunday loves

1... This video is magical.

2... Audrey Kawasaki3... Adolie Day illustrations.


4... Retro inspired hoodies (an etsy stumble that I wish I could remember!)


5...

Why I Am Not a Painter by Frank O'Hara

I am not a painter, I am a poet.
Why? I think I would rather be
a painter, but I am not. Well,

for instance, Mike Goldberg
is starting a painting. I drop in.
"Sit down and have a drink" he
says. I drink; we drink. I look
up. "You have SARDINES in it."
"Yes, it needed something there."
"Oh." I go and the days go by
and I drop in again. The painting
is going on, and I go, and the days
go by. I drop in. The painting is
finished. "Where's SARDINES?"
All that's left is just
letters, "It was too much," Mike says.

But me? One day I am thinking of
a color: orange. I write a line
about orange. Pretty soon it is a
whole page of words, not lines.
Then another page. There should be
so much more, not of orange, of
words, of how terrible orange is
and life. Days go by. It is even in
prose, I am a real poet. My poem
is finished and I haven't mentioned
orange yet. It's twelve poems, I call
it ORANGES. And one day in a gallery
I see Mike's painting, called SARDINES.

(1971)

Hope everyone is having a lovely holiday weekend! We've been exploring under the sea, partying with friends that feel like family, re-arranging the living room (again), working on a lovely shawl, and getting hair cuts.

Tomorrow I'm looking forward to time to myself in this re-invented space to get myself organized and in my zen place.

Walk barefoot and eat gummy bears.