The Way I read a Letter's - this -
'Tis first - I lock the Door -
And push it with my fingers - next -
For transport it be sure -
And then I go the furthest off
To counteract a knock -
Then draw my little Letter forth
And slowly pick the lock -
Then - glancing narrow, at the Wall -
And narrow at the floor
For firm Conviction of a Mouse
Not exorcised before -
Peruse how infinite I am
To no one that You - know -
And sigh for lack of Heaven - but not
The Heaven God bestow -
Working on a contribution to the Ladies of Literature zine. I don’t know if people are familiar with the source material for this one. Any guesses?? :P
I’m off writing a new fairy tale. What’s your favorite? Currently, I’m all about Hansel & Gretel, the Swan Princess and Felicia and the Pot of Pinks
In Antarctica icebergs aren’t always monotone white, surprisingly they can appear striped too, making for a pretty view. Different colours can indicate different conditions including where the iceberg has been. Blue stripes indicate a layer of melt water was present that very quickly refroze not allowing any bubbles to form. Brown, black and yellow stripes can show that the iceberg has picked up various types of sediments during formation, which can take hundreds of thousands of years. A green stripe can form after the iceberg has broken off and come in contact with algae rich seawater.
Photo taken by Oyvind Tangen several 100km north of Antarctica
Some recent reading:
Vivienne + Desert
Inneresting…a horned goddess from game Age of Dragons. I am intrigued.
December 1, 2014
Isolation is the perfect form of a landscape when you have to think for a living. I’m the sort of chap who people feel comfortable with when they are in trouble or in need of any advice. I’m no fool, so I charge people for my services. The catch is, if my advice doesn’t work, they don’t have to pay me anything. In today’s commerce, you must have an edge over the competition. Not only that, I’m 100% sure my advice will work. From romantic problems to financial troubles - I master all. Also, if you come to me with a problem, and I can’t solve it, I will tell you directly to your face or through e-mail. I will just say “you’re fucked.”
If you come to me for advice, and I accept you as a client, I pretty much study your financial situation - for instance if the advice I give you brings great financial awards, I expect 40% of the amount you will get due to my expertise. If it is something easy for me and not time consuming, I could just charge a small fee for my troubles. If it is a question of romance or relationship, I may insist on having detailed information on the other party. If you as a client, withhold information, either regarding your finances or an important piece of information, I will walk away from your problem, and will charge you a fee for my time.
Now hopefully that is clear. I will not leave my home to help you. I have an assistant, Archie, who does all my leg work. If you can’t reach me for some reason, you can trust Archie is my voice as well as my stand-in appearance. Normally the procedure means you come to my home, which is my office. You must make an appointment, and once you do, I or Archie will contact you. If you don’t hear from me, that means I ‘m either too busy or don’t care about your problem. If I do see you, I insist on a strict dress code. If you’re a male, you must wear a tie or a jacket/v-neck sweater. If you’re a female, I insist that you wear a skirt, blouse, and sensible shoes. Think of it as working in a bank office. I don’t want to hear an emotional outbreak, just the facts and a background narrative of the characters that are associated with your problem. You may want to bring your own bottled water, because I will not be serving any drinks or food to you during our meeting. These are the rules. Obey them or don’t use my services.
Also I’m not fond of small talk. So once you’re in my office, and you sit down, immediately tell me what your problem is. I will ask specific questions, and once I decide to take your case, I’ll ask specific questions about your finances. I will insist on seeing all your bank accounts. So bring in your latest bank statements as well as a receipt of your last pay check. Once you give me all the information I need, I insist that you leave my office and home immediately. The real activity is for me to isolate myself and think about your problem. I tend to my orchids as well as experimenting in my kitchen, and usually I’m lost in thought for a few days. I never (unless I’m busy) take more than three to five days to give a customer his or hers advice. The thing is if you choose not to take my advice, you will still have to pay for my services. You don’t have to pay anything if my advice doesn’t work out, but you must take my advice and use it accordingly. I will give you precise instructions on how to solve your problem. If you fail to follow these directions, then you will be still required to pay me. Now if that is understood, what is your problem?
Rita Hayworth in Gilda (1946).
NOTE: This post went live on the Dutty Artz site 2 weeks ago, a few hours before a deep glitch sent the site offline, so although the Hong Kong trip has already happened, nobody got to read this preview writeup. Check back in a few days for the recap.
I’m about to hop on a 16-hour nonstop flight to Hong Kong (via the Arctic Circle?), where, timeslipped 13 hours ahead into my sleep-deprived Eastern future I’ll step off the plane and head straight to lead a workshop with a half-dozen traditional musicians from HK and my man Chief Boima. What’s going on?!
Last winter a curator from the FreeSpace Festival dropped me a line. Over the next few months we brainstormed ideas–they were open to different configurations beyond the usual fly in, play some tunes, fly out DJ gig (and this will be my first time there).
Results: there will be a club night where we bring the Dutty Artz vibes– but, excitingly, we are also able slow down and engage with some of the the thought/processes behind my Sufi Plug Ins project & Beyond Digital: Morocco — How do ideas of “traditional” musical cultures interact with our immersive digital realities? Can music software double as a performance archive? What happens when ancient rhythms get translated into the drum machine, or when German synthesizers bend to jam with non-Western scales? Rapidfire African-Chinese globalization sidesteps US/Europe– how does that dynamic impact music-making and technology-use?
To explore these questions, we’re staging a weeklong residency called Beyond Digital 852 (852 = HK’s country code). Boima and I will lab up with an incredible selection of acoustic musicians to orchestrate a collaborative performance that debuts on Sunday November 23. Along the way, us residency participants will discuss related issues, from themes of friction, translation, memory, and more that arise throughout the creation process, to the always-complicated economics of life as a musician. Will the results be danceable? Let’s just say that a special circuit is completed when the audience joins the conversation…
On Saturday November 22, I’m doing a special daytime DJ set accompanied by Lee Kai Ho on live visuals. Both of these performances might happen inside a giant inflatable igloo. Stay tuned on that. These Freespace events are FREE, all-ages afternoon jammies.
On Saturday night Chief Boima and I team up with local talent to throw a DA party at the XXX Gallery (“Hong Kong’s truest underground art space”). Shout out to DJ Shelf Index for making this trip a reality.
I love exploring and engaging with new cities, especially with folks like the mighty Chief Boima. I’m insisting on only eating delicious food, and I think we’re trying to film a video for an upcoming project, too. HONG KONG! Catch us next weekend. My Instagram feed will snapshot the crazy.
CJ and I, on the plane back from Thanksgiving today, had a good idea for a reality show: somebody has to buy every item in the Skymall catalogue and then make use of all of them in one day’s time.
Trail network built by ants in 30 minutes
emergence of an exploratory trail network built by a colony of Argentine ants Linepithema humile source
Really great podcast on EMERGENCE:
Work of Days, 1998
Gathered dust onto squares of adhesive vinyl
315 x 157 ½ x 157 ½ in.
(via Rivane Neuenschwander - Artists - Tanya Bonakdar Gallery)
November 30, 2014
One thinks that being a writer one would want to have the largest audience or readers possible. This, of course, is totally understandable. But to be honest I actually prefer a smaller readership. I like to get paid of course, but so far that hasn’t happened. Nevertheless, I don’t know why I write. I suspect it is to leave something on this planet when I’m gone and buried, or my ashes dropped off in the Shibuya street crossing in front of the station. Also, as much as possible, I would like to make my residence into a museum devoted to… me. I have a lot of good friends, but I think my record and book collection speak more of me, than any human being I know. I have met fascinating people, but I spent more time choosing the right book or album for my library. Also I’m quite aware that all my writings are on computer, and not on actual paper. So I plan to write first on the computer, print it out, and make a lot of markings on the manuscript, so people out there can see my work in progress. Technology makes everything neat and precise, but the ‘real’ world is quite messy. People don’t go to museums to see neatness; they go to see the drama and tears of the making of that art.
So I wrote a will to express my desires to have my collection intact after I pass away. “I give and bequeath all the remaining works of art executed by me in my collection to an American city that will agree to build or assign and maintain permanent quarters exclusively for these works of art and assure their physical survival with the explicit requirement that none of these works of art will be sold, given, or exchanged but are to be retained in the place described above exclusively assigned to them in perpetuity for exhibition and study.” I thought it was best to have the museum in America, because the text will all be in English. I’m paranoid that my work will be mis-translated. I have approached various universities around the country, and so far, most of them have told me “we never heard of you.” Which is accurate at the moment, but I think that’s such a so short-sighted thing to say to a writer, no?
Acting in accordance with my count, I have 2,752 books and 1,434 albums. I imagine that at the very least if I can have a room that is 1,000 feet by 1,000 feet, and have a couple of display cases for my manuscripts and correspondence (which to be honest will have to be print-outs of my e-mail), I think it will make a very nice and permanent exhibition. Also perhaps over the years, from the collection of fees collected at the door, as well as the hopeful (future) home of my collection, they will be able to collect funds from the non-profit world. With the funds, I’m hoping that they can invite scholars to come and give talks about my writing as well as my collection. Perhaps even a panel discussion or two.
I think, looking back now, the most fascinating aspect of my writing career is actually the lack of such a career. I’m sure scholars will be scratching their heads over this one for years to come. Basically I stopped participating in the literary world due that it wasn’t of my making. Some claim that I couldn’t get my books published, but that’s not the point here. The specific point I want to make is that I live here and this is my world. Therefore there must a representation of my world.
Infant Stars in Serpens
Infant stars are glowing gloriously in this infrared image of the Serpens star-forming region, captured by NASA’s Spitzer Space Telescope.
The reddish-pink dots are baby stars deeply embedded in the cosmic cloud of gas and dust that collapsed to create it. A dusty disk of cosmic debris, or “protoplanetary disk,” that may eventually form planets, surrounds the infant stars.
Wisps of green throughout the image indicate the presence of carbon rich molecules called, Polycyclic Aromatic Hydrocarbons (PAHs). On Earth, PAHs can be found on charred barbecue grills and in automobile exhaust. Blue specks sprinkled throughout the image are background stars in our Milky Way Galaxy.
The Serpens star-forming region is located approximately 848 light-years away in the Serpens constellation.
The image is a three-channel false-color composite, where emission at 4.5 microns is blue, emission at 8.0 microns is green, and 24 micron emission is red.
Image credit: NASA/JPL-Caltech/L. Cieza (University of Texas at Austin)
I worked with the team at pinch/zoom to help create Bright.ly, a UV detection-and-prediction app for ARO. It was interesting using simple visual language to represent such ground-breaking technology. I not only helped to conceive of the general UI direction, but I created a series of location-and-weather-triggered backgrounds that populate for the user automatically, as well as a fun avatar builder that kept with the hand-drawn theme. We played with a lot of interesting ideas, some of which you can see in the sketches. The app will be in app stores this summer.
November 29, 2014
A chorus girl is not a chorus girl in my hands. I take her, and I multiply her by the hundreds. My sense of eros is not sleeping with one, or two, but hundreds. And when I sleep, I mean deep penetrating sleep. I never want to wake-up from the dreams that I formed half-awake. There are some who bring poetry to a pretty girl, but I bring pretty girls to poetry. It’s the least I can do, and if I can do it in a large warehouse in Burbank, with me on a camera crane, many feet up, looking down into these great beauties, and present that series of moments to you, dear reader, then I did my job properly.
Some are used by the movie studio system, but speaking for myself, I use the movie studio system for my precise work. I need the system to do what I have to do. In fact, the problem is when I’m not working in the system, I have a tendency to fall off the map. As long as I’m in the studio and I have my girls in front of the camera, I’m perfectly OK. Otherwise, and out of the studio, I’m a mess.
Behind the camera crane, yes, but behind a driving wheel, I recommend that you get out of my way. When I’m on the open road, and then finding that road ain’t that open, well, people will die or get hurt. California State Route 1 is my destiny and anyone who is there at the same time as me, better buckle-up, because it is gonna be a ride to the very end.
Three people were killed and five were seriously injured. Heck, even I was hurt, and I was the driver! All-in-all, Ada Von Brieson, her son William Von Briton, and Dorothea Daly died in the crash. What happened was there was or is a line dividing the highway, and I somehow either lost that line, or it disappeared, or something like that. Which is ironic, because my day job is to make sure the girls are in line and they stay in line. Yet, I somehow failed myself in this type of choreography. I’ll never be able to see a landscape again that is made from my perfect designs - instead I see the crushed metal of the cars, the twisted bloody bodies on the pavement and I think to myself, that this is the other side of my personality. My fear of dis-organization, chaos, dis-order, anarchy, destruction… it is truly me. My fear is my aesthetic. If I can take a group of beauties and form patterns, it is almost like a math problem. 1 + 1 = 2. But if something disrupts the formula, then I go totally out of whack, and that ain’t a good thing, believe me my brother and sister.
I only exist when the world is found to be in disorder. My skill is to put some sort of design or order to the landscape, that is our world, or the world I want to make. I can’t do that, without the assistance of the Studio System. Without it, I’m a drunk driver speeding on the Pacific Coast Highway.
naamah: Clouds on Mars, photographed by Mars Express, 14th October 2010.
34 to 45°S, 36 to 39°E, where Noachis Terra slopes down into the western Hellas Basin.
Animation of 5 monochrome images, colourized with a composite of 3 visible light images. Colour balance is not naturalistic.
Image credit: ESA. Animation: AgeOfDestruction.
Written Norwegian is basically Danish. Henrik Ibsen and Knut Hamsun wrote in Danish. There are these small modifications, but it is still very Danish. That’s the conservative. And then you have another language that is invented, that a man travelling the countryside wrote down everything and invented a language, which is based on the way people speak, which is very different but still, both are Norwegian.
And then you have the thing in between, a kind of radical language, Bokmål, which is also a sociological thing. If you were on the left side in the ’70s you would talk in way to side yourself with the workers, and so on, and it is a language thing. When I was growing up the writers I liked wrote like that, but when I started writing my first book I needed a kind of a distance, and I took that distance in that conservative language. At the same time Marcel Proust was translated for the first time into Norwegian, and his language is very conservative and has a very French feeling to it. It was something completely new in Norwegian language and I was obsessed with it. There’s a lot of it in my first book. Kind of French-conservative-Norwegian language, long, long sentences. I don’t think it’s possible to relate this to English, because you have a kind of standard English, don’t you?
November 28, 2014
November 28 is International Window Shopping Day. It’s “the activity of looking at the goods displayed in shop windows, especially without intending to buy anything.” Without a doubt, this is my favorite holiday. There is nothing more profound, or beautiful, than leaving one’s house around dusk, and wandering around an urban shopping area to look at window displays. To be absolutely honest, I have never seen a bad window display. Even the “bad” ones have a certain amount of soul and spirit, that I find truly moving. Due to my phobia of being contained in a box-like room, for instance most museums and galleries, I much prefer my art-viewing to be outside among the masses. Saying that, aesthetically speaking, I don’t like official “public art” or so-called graffiti works. My art-viewing is basically window displays from everything to the local record store to the most luxurious department store. It’s very democratic in that you can be poor, rich, middle-class or totally insane - and yet we can all enjoy the spectacle that is the window display.
Although I prefer window displays in larger urban areas, many small town shops are also quite pleasing to the eye and soul as well. Maybe your small town, if you live or visiting one, may have a block that is focused on retail shops - this too can be fantastic. When I travel, I usually go to the same cities. London, Tokyo, Paris, New York City, and of course Los Angeles. Each city has their own aesthetic with respect to window displays. It is almost as if the entire city has a fingerprint, and of course we know that each fingerprint is unique and special. If you blindfolded me, and kept me in a dark room for a few days, and then eventually let me out and place me in front of a display window (with no text on display) I can guess what city I’m just by the display. Saying that, with respect to the five cities above, I really don’t have a favorite. Each one has a unique and special presence. All good and a total win-win situation. As Stefen Zweig wrote: “Time to leave now, get out of this room, go somewhere, anywhere; sharpen this feeling of happiness and freedom, stretch your limbs, fill your eyes, be awake, wider awake, vividly awake in every sense and every pore.” Window shopping opens all my senses to another world, and displays often express a world that seems similar to the one we live in, but of course, it is not.
For me personally, a window display doesn’t make me want to purchase something, but it does make me admire an object or how that object appears in conjunction with the rest of the window dressing. The bigger department stores have a whole narrative working, and in a way it reminds me of the Kabuki Theater, in which you see a landscape in front of you, with no real point of focus. In holidays, specifically Christmas, there is a narrative being played out. My favorite was Macy’s window, where a little boy awakes, to discover Santa Clause coming into his room. There is something that is both touching and erotic at the same time. Perhaps alarming as well. Nevertheless it was animation done with puppets, and if you get close to the window, one can marvel at both the technology as well as the crafts(wo)manship of the work.
I don’t have a preference when it comes to objects in a window. A book can just be as fascinating as a hammer displayed in a hardware shop window. What one sees is a curated way of looking at the world, and as a viewer I can walk by and look at the display as either sales merchandise or a window entrance to someone’s soul, mind and heart. Walter Benjamin in his book “The Arcades Project” commented that “Something different is disclosed in the drunkenness of passion: the landscape of the body… These landscapes are traversed by paths which lead sexuality into the world of the inorganic. Fashion itself is only another medium enticing it still more deeply into the universe of matter.” Clothing always has an erotic presence, and it's amplified when placed in a public window. I’m a voyeur, and there is nothing like a public window to satisfy my desire.
One day this summer, I took my son to a playground, and was deeply bummed out to see so many parents on their phones instead of playing with their kids. On the walk home, I roughed up some wireframes in my mind of some vaporware I’m pretty proud of: Cloakroom. Cloakroom is a mobile app that creates a private, localized network, using either Bluetooth or wireless, that locks phones for a set amount of time. Once created, every phone in the ‘cloakroom’ is locked, until the group as a whole decides to unlock the session, and each user ‘checks out’ (or unless the phones are powered off and on again, as a safety measure). I created this idea and page as a kind of joke, but it was gotten quite a bit of attention, which has surprised me. Head on over to the page to sign up, if you’d like to be notified if it’s ever made.
Harold Lloyd menaced by a turkey in Hot Water (1924). I couldn’t find this famous scene on YouTube (shocking, right?) so I uploaded it today and embedded the video in a post about this underrated Lloyd comedy. Happy Thanksgiving!
November 27, 2014
My very first song that I remember singing to myself, while watching TV was this: “It’s Howdy Doody Time/It’s Howdy Doody time/Bob Smith and Howdy too/Say “Howdy do” to you/Let’s give a rousing cheer/‘Cause Howdy Doody’s here/It’s time to start the show’So kids,let’s go!” I would sing it at the top of my lungs, and I can could even feel it in the pit of my stomach. Ironically the TV show didn’t give me pleasure, but more of a horror, due that I found Howdy Doody slightly sinister. Nevertheless my grandparents gave me a slightly smaller version of the Howdy Doody doll. At first, I didn’t want to open the package, because it had a nice picture of Buffalo Bob holding Howdy on his lap. On the package, there was the phrase in small print: “Say kids, what time is it? Then in big print: “It’s Howdy Doody time!” Once the package was opened, the spell was broken, and the doll became mine. It was no longer his time, but my time.
I placed the doll on my rocking chair that faced my bed in my remote bedroom, quite away from my parents’ room. As a procedure and since I was a nervous sleeper, I would say goodnight to the doll. Also I would make sure that it would face me, in fact, the way I was positioned in bed, I could look directly in his eyes. Either my father and mother would turn off the light after falling asleep. I never liked to have the lights off before I fall off to sleep, because I was petrified of the dark. Once the lights were out, I felt I was entering another world. In fact, my bedroom seemed to change its mood, or took a life of its own. I noticed the shadows, caused by the tree that was in front of the back porch lighting would sway if it was windy outside. It didn’t exactly scare me, but I was thankful that I was in a covered bed, full of blankets, and therefore I could hide my eyes.
I have often woke up to the sound of the chair rocking back and forth. Once I’m fully awake the sound stopped. I could barely see it in the dark, but I could make out Howdy Doody’s eyes staring at me. I went back to sleep - but this happened maybe three or four times a week. I would never leave my bed in the middle of the night to go to the bathroom, because I not only found my bedroom scary in the dark a.m. hours, but also I was fearful of Howdy. I always had the feeling that the doll was alive, but never sure. I would notice little things like maybe his head would be tilted in a certain direction, when it should be facing the bed. Or even once, I found his leg crossing his other leg, which I thought was impossible, due that I always placed Howdy on the chair with his legs straight out. I would never obsess about it, but I have to say the thought of it was in the back of my mind. Thinking back now, I think I was suffering from a mild version of “pupaphobia” which is a fear of puppets. I never told this to my parents, or any grown-ups, because I was embarrassed about my fears.
One rainy afternoon, after many days of hard rain, we had a mud slide, which totally destroyed our home. What was once a structure became splinters, mud and nothing else. There wasn’t even a foundation. In fact the house was built on the side of a hill with stilts facing down the hill. If we were in the structure, especially me, we would have been killed. My bedroom would have been the first to get hit by the mud and rocks. We were fortunate that all of us (the family) was out that day. The tragic thing is that we lost everything in the house. In fact, we were basically homeless, and if it wasn’t the kindness of our neighbor, we wouldn’t have a shelter over our heads. A few days later that neighbor came up to me with something in his arms. He brought me closer to him, and he said “look what I found on the hillside.” It was Howdy, but a very battered Howdy with one of his eyes missing and also his left hand. This always bothered me, because I’m left-handed, and for some reason I thought this was a bad sign. I wanted to throw the doll away, because I felt my entire life went down that hill, and I didn’t want to have this ‘object’ to represent the only toy or object that I owned and what survived in my life. Nevertheless the adults around me thought it was a good luck charm of sorts. So the one-eyed, one-handed Howdy was cleaned-up and placed in a chair by my sleeping bag in our neighbor’s living room.
Now that I’m 60, I still have this doll. In fact, I place it on a chair facing my bed. At this point and time, besides my mom, this doll has known me for the longest time. I would like to think that my last sight, before dying in my bed, will be looking straight at Howdy’s face with his one eye gone.
Esther Cañadas in Givenchy Haute Couture _ Photo by Christophe Cufos _ Vogue Paris, September 1997..
Members of the Mashantucket Pequot Tribe and the Little Fox Dance Troupe, from left, Arali Colebut, 5, Sikis Reels, 5, Malachi Hall, 6, and Lawrence Martins, 5, take a breather after performing a Native American dance during a ceremony Thursday to kick off Native American Heritage Month at Foxwoods Resort Casino…
via the day.com
DKNY long loose top / Rosemunde long sleeve top, $110 / Rodarte double breasted vest / Polder ribbed knee high socks / Raxevsky elastic skirt, $46 / Pointy black boots / Bed Stu canvas rucksack / Raven Denim skull jewellery, $2,775 / AllSaints hooded scarf / Pieces grey fingerless glove, $20 / Hera Sling Bag
is this too dark for Thanksgiving? yes? good.
November 26, 2014
“A writer never takes a vacation. For a writer life consists of either writing or thinking about writing.” Which makes me a bit of a bore. I know I should take an interest in other people’s lives or at the very least, pretend that I’m interested in their lives. The truth is I find my world absolutely fascinating, because … well, me. My work is basically focusing on the one thing that I know, or I “think” I know. Surely there is not anyone out there in the world, who could write a full bodied biography on yours truly. Therefore it is my responsibility to write, and to write what I know of - which again, is basically, me.
My entire life before I started writing, was to please others. As the boyfriend I had to tell the girlfriend that she’s the one, and when I worked for my various bosses, I told them that they were the one, and I had to consistently bite my lips so I won’t tell them my true desire. The only time where I felt at home, was when I read a book. Reading text on a page is probably the most satisfying series of moments in one’s life. The relationship is pure. The writer and the reader. Eventually as a reader, I decided to promote myself as a writer. Now, for the past three or four years I read nothing but my own writings.
I have two books out now. I read them many times. I try to imagine myself as a reader, who doesn’t know me. Would I still like the books? Surprisingly I do! “I’m almost never serious, and I’m always too serious. Too deep, too shallow. Too sensitive, too cold hearted. I’m like a collection of paradoxes.” Which I think makes me unique in today’s world. Everyone is so black and white. Truth or lies. Left or Right. Soldier or terrorist. Everyone has a role and they play that role as if it was a vehicle going down a straight highway from point A to point B. As for myself, I like to explore the mystery and the paradoxes that are truly me. Even though I have been thinking about myself for numerous years, there are still things I don ’t understand.
I often feel that language alone does not describe my world. My basic struggle every day is to provide a description of my condition, but I often feel limited by my knowledge or use of language. “Without language, thought is a vague, uncharted nebula.” When I walk down Waverly Drive, I think of what is it about the street that makes it so unique. The only thing I can think of is that it is because I’m walking down this specific street. Me being at a location makes it significant. Without the “me, ” then it is just a street or location. “I’ve always been suspicious of collective truths.” The only process I can truly trust, is what I see, and then there’s the art of writing down what you see - but can one ever do that? “Sometimes I lie awake at night and I ask, “Is life a multiple choice test or is it a true or false test?… Then a voice comes to me out of the dark and says, ‘we hate to tell you this but life is a thousand word essay.’”