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Inspired: Red (Hong Yi)

Hong Yi, a Malaysian artist who goes by the nickname "Red", describes herself as an artist-architect who "likes to paint, but not with a paintbrush." Instead, she uses all sorts of found materials to create imaginative portraits and whimsical scenes. Her work has gained much acclaim recently on the Internet, in part due to her ability to capture well-known figures in creative and evocative mediums. She currently resides in Shanghai and works for an Australian architectural firm. Her most recent project, "31 Days of Creativity with Food," consisted of a daily art piece constructed solely from food on the backdrop of a white plate. These are few of my favorite pieces from her work:

Cucumber Landscape (made from one cucumber)

All You Need Is Love (cherry tomatoes, nori, soy sauce)

Giant Squid Attack! (squid and squid ink)

"The Wave" (nori, long grain rice)

Portrait of Jay Chou, in coffee

The making of the Jay Chou portrait

Go check out the rest of Red's work on her website (it's totally worth it!)

Plus she runs a great blog!

Inspired: Marisa Redondo

Marisa Redondo creates beautiful organic paintings inspired by the natural beauties of her current surroundings in Northern California. Working with oils and watercolors, she seeks to capture the unique patterns and colors of nature (which she does quite well). I find her choice of colors and the intricacy of detail in her work fascinating. You can find all of Redondo's work in her Etsy store, River Luna. These are a few of my favorites:

Gathering Bundle

In Bloom

Tree Ring Feathers

Stick Collection

All of Marisa Redondo's work can be found in her Etsy shop

A [Concerto] for Sunday: Elgar's Cello Concerto in E minor, Op. 85

[Mom, this post is for you]

I think there comes a point (or many points) in a child's life when one must admit that their parents were right, at least about a few things, or (more likely) about many things. This is one of those moments.

Growing up, especially in my teenage years, I didn't quite understand my parents' insistence on listening to classical music. As an avid pianist, I had a certain appreciation for a well-written classic. But must we listen to KBAQ every Sunday morning? Must we find a classical radio station on every roadtrip? Do we have to break out the symphonies when cleaning the house? Can't we listen to something else for a change? [accompanied by the perfected thirteen-year-old eye role]

I was sick of playing Chopin's Rondo during piano lessons. I didn't want to listen to any more Bach. The musc was old, the masters were dead: Let them rest in peace. 

There is this process, however, of maturation that (quite fortunately!) begins to reshape and remodel tastes of the adolescent brain and (oh, thank God!) remove the voracious appetite for catchy, repetitive, mind-numbing pop music- a process that might lead one to eventually look in the mirror and discover (how did this happen?!) that one quite resembles her mother... [In some regards this might be every girl-child's nightmare, but not all inherited traits are undesirable]

All of this is to say, by the time we decide to have children, I told Nate the other day, I will likely carry on the family tradition of torturing my children with that dreaded classical music. (He's not quite on board with this yet, but just wait- you'll see....). **[note: in my mind this child-having will not happen yet for about ten years, just in case anyone is getting ahead of themselves.] Tucson's classical music station, with its predictable, yet strangely comforting, baritone intonements of the title, composer, and performer of each piece by a seemingly-omnipotent yet unremarkable announcer, now has a home on my radio presets and, though it must play second fiddle to NPR, still manages to beat out that local "mix" station a good chunk of the time [in my "old age" and with this newly discovered phenomenon of commuting, I have no patience for listening to the same four songs on repeat]. We went to the (excellent) concert of the UA Chamber Orchestra, not just because of a friend's membership in said orchestra, but out of an actual longing for some lovely evening entertainment. 

And thus, with no further ado, I present to you Elgar's Cello Concerto in E minor, Op. 85, performed by the talented Jacqueline Du Pre. Enjoy:

(Take that, ya kids with your blasted auto-tuned racket you call music.)

Weekend Links

A book story by Nina Katchadourian

It's the weekend! (And the end is in sight for my thesis!) Spring has arrived in Tucson, and with it comes the reminder that Summer is not far behind. So begins the short window of perfect Arizona weather, after the chill has left the air but before the sun begins to scorch us. To celebrate, I've compiled this collection of links for you from around the web. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm out to get some sunshine. 

Tohono Chul is having their Annual Spring Plant Sale (and this is where I'll be tomorrow- succulents!)

Book Title Stories

Beautiful Bay Lights in San Francisco

I'm thinking of trying this recipe out for breakfast tomorrow

Cool snake rings

Make your own lovely earrings

A real time map of cyber attacks

Love this warehouse-turned-apartment

A handy guide to pairing food and wine

Meant to be?

A fantastic South Philly abode

This map is awesome

Inspired: Maja Lindberg

I have to admit, the hedgehog illustration is the primary reason I found this artist (Hedgehogs are my catnip). Anyways, back on track: Maja Lindberg is a designer/illustrator from Sweden who draws ethereal portraits of animals and fairytales and other such things. I find her use of light most striking in her illustrations- an effect that gives a depth to her dreamlike figures. These are a few of my favorites from her pieces. (You can check out all of her work for sale in her Etsy shop here.)

Evening Swim

Ocean Deep

The Lighthouse Widow

The Hedgehog

All of these and more can be found in Maja's Etsy Shop

The kind of post inspired by too many hours of air travel

Night Lights by Beata 

The sun fell below the horizon long ago but still
along the mountains hangs a choking orange glow that
burns the sky with bands of blue remnants of day
last lingering on unwilling to succumb before the
sweeping creeping darkness
engines hum a steady cacophony drowning the simplest
thought smothering sense dulling mind to even
most jolting terror as she looks across
clouds to see light has gone diving into impending
blackness and fireflies dancing below
(Afterglow, author unknown)

Songs for Sunday: Lady Lamb the Beekeeper

I have to thank NPR for this one. After hearing a charming interview on All Things Considered with Aly Spaltro, known on stage as Lady Lamb the Beekeeper, on the drive home, I just had to go find a bit more of her music. This girl has an incredible voice, and her brand new album Ripley Pine is fantastic. I highly recommend getting yourself a copy. If these videos aren't enough to convince you, check out her live session with The Wild Honey Pie (and download a free copy of her performance).

Best Reads of the Week

Photo by Joe Raedle, Getty Images
Members of a Haitian Ministry of Health body-collection team unload 14 bodies of cholera victims

Death by Treacle: Are we overexposed to emotion?

A housing development experiment in Mumbai: What happens when the rich and the poor live next door to each other?

Who exactly are we fighting? Al Qaeda and the "War on Terror" in 2013

Negligence in Haiti: The United Nations and Cholera

What makes a charity? What sorts of organizations deserve tax exempt status?

The legacy of C. Everett Koop: Examining the impact of our most outspoken surgeon general

Sudden Death: When death comes for the unprepared

Domestic Witness: A photo essay unmasking domestic violence

Inspired: World Press Photo Awards

The results of the World Press Photo Awards were released a few weeks ago, and the winners are stunning. Out of 103,481 photographs from 5,666 photographers, a few winning photos were chosen by an international jury in a number of categories ranging from sports to news to daily life. These were a few of the photos I found most striking, but all of them are so incredible. Head over to the World Press website to check out the rest of the winning images for 2013.

Gaza Burial, Paul Hensen, 20 Nov 2013
Gaza City, Palestinian Territories
World Press Photo of the Year, 1st Prize, Spot News Singles

Joy at the End of the Run, Wei Seng Chen, 12 Feb 2012
Batu Sangkar, West Sumatra, Indonesia
1st Prize, Sports Action Single

Emperor Penguins, Paul Nicklen, 18 Nov 2011
Rose Sea, Antarctica
1st Prize, Nature Stories

Cross Country Steeplechase, Roman Vondrous, 15 Sep 2012
Pardubice, Czech Republic
1st Prize, Sports Action Stories

At the Dandora Dump, Micah Albert, 03 April 2012
Nairobi, Kenya
1st Prize, Contemporary Issues Singles

Want to know how they picked the winners? Check out these interviews with the jury members.

Songs for Sunday: The Roots and Sufjan Stevens

These four tracks, which comprise the Redford suite that concludes The Roots' Undun album, have been playing on repeat for about three days as I work on thesis edits. Love love love. (The rest of the album is pretty nice as well.)

On Confronting a Mental Disorder

Burn #210 by David Nadel

It is quite difficult to bluntly admit one's weakness, to lay bare one's closely-guarded, mangled pieces without excuse or explanation, without mounting some defense or plea of extenuating circumstances. Easier to lay charge on some environment factor, to impugn some abtruse agent-- school, work, weddings... or perhaps to construct some detailed analysis of the influencing factors. If this, this, and that coincide, then this failing is the inevitable result. Such constructions lead to false hopes: once this is done, all will be well and normal again; if we just make it till Christmas, till graduation, till the 5th of March, this won't bother us anymore. 

But the circumstances change, the deadlines of change come and go, those influencing agents mysteriously fade away, and the gaping wound remains, unhealed, unchanged. More explanations can be sought, perhaps even convincingly found, but the facade begins to slip, paint peeling, frame sagging. Those willing to look will see the straining timbers beneath the plaster and cheerful signs. Much longer and down it falls.

The honesty begins with oneself, for the excuses, though to them told, are not so much made for the others. Acceptance of these flaws is often feigned but rarely carried to full term. It's the schedule or the assignment, the sheer number of demands or the short time in which they must be done- it must be. A change of scenery would cure it, but since there is so much to be done here now we must grit our teeth and suffer through. It's easier to believe this than to grapple with the fundamental shift required to cope with a permanent impediment. 

Mental disorder is a term quite apt for application to anxiety and panic. One's thoughts are constantly asunder-- leaping from thought to thought and task to task propelled with an impending sense of doom. The inability to stop the mind leads to flurries of business, the harnessing of thoughts for productive activity or their preoccupation with stories and news of the day, for at the moment they are left to their own devices comes the overwhelming wave of dread, the paralyzing sense of failure, the seemingly prescient clarity that nothing will end well. These thoughts, if captured, are easily dismissed as irrational, but the feelings are not, nor the physiological response they provoke. The clenched jaw, the racing heart, the perspiring palms and quickening breath, the trembling frame, weighted chest, sudden faintness all spell fear, choking, inescapable fear. At the surface these fears bear names: the deadline-missing-fear, the offending-fear, the being-mistaken-fear. But at their heart something unnameable lies, no matter how often one tries to conjure it into words in the middle of the night. And after the weddings and paper deadlines, the moves and illnesses, the self-imposed deadlines, the thing remains, evidencing its persistence and forcing a new reckoning with the frustration and shame of admission that one cannot control one's own mind and hasn't the slightest idea how to change that. 

The last few weeks have been full of projects, opportunities, exciting news, nasty flu, tasks checked off and more tasks to do, and they have brought with them the difficult realization that I have once again underestimated my anxiety disorder. My deadlines have passed, and the terror remains, whether the week is busy or calm, whether the deadlines are short or long, whether the project is going poorly or splendidly. It feels like a continual drowning: treading water on the good days, flailing and gasping on others, whittling away at the last shreds of patience, stealing any sense of hope or calm, wearing on the ability to function reasonably, trapping me in my own thoughts, unable to claw my way out of a perpetual state of semi-isolation. The feeling of having little to know control over one's thoughts leads to perpetual frustration and exhaustion.  And at this point it is difficult to know how to cope with this unwanted companion. I know the practical steps: the breathing, the centering, the reframing; but such small tools seem vastly inadequate in the shadow of the monolith that towers above me, like spoons in a  sinking ocean-liner. Still something else whispers that this is all in my head while another suggests that I am not trying hard enough. Another points out that hearing voices, metaphorical or not, is evidence enough for a lack of sanity. I wonder sometimes if turning toward pharmaceutical solutions would be a wise choice or a cop-out. The winning feeling seems to be paralysis. 

Yet even with the realization of these last few weeks come comforts, most of all that even in this we have begun a marriage. In all honesty, it probably took a marriage to provoke the final blunt admission that things are wrong and cannot easily be righted. And though my anxieties wear on him-- the volatility, the crises, the moments of despair-- he says that he knew what he was getting into and that this does not change his love. Together we'll struggle through and find something that helps. It's by no means easy, but it is incredibly reassuring to not be alone. 

Part of the practical reality of the moment means that I'm not sure how much I'll be writing at the moment. I'm beginning to learn that I need to give myself grace, and, with a house still half in boxes and a number of key school projects and important interviews coming up, I'm finding it necessary to carefully conserve my time and energy. I'm not sure how long this process of managing this anxiety will take or what it will look like, but I know it needs to happen now. And so I start and hope for the best. 

Short Film: 3x3

I love this wonderful little short film about an intrepid night janitor from Portuguese director Nona Rocha:

WINNER OF 14 AWARDS WORLDWIDE
Grande prémio ZON (portugal) | Cinema Jove Festival Internacional de Cine, Spain | Festival Internacional de Cine de Huesca, Espanha, Spain | Warsaw Film Festival, Polónia | Festival Internacional de Cinema do Algarve, Portugal | Odense International Film Festival, Dinamarca
Curtas Vila do Conde Festival Internacional de Cinema | Festival du Court Métrage de Bruxelles, Bélgica | Circuito Off Venice International Short Film Festival, Italy | Sapporo International Short Film Festival, Japan
Naoussa International Film Festival, Greece: 3rd Best Short Film, People's Choice Award
Festival Internacional de Cinema de Humor, Portugal: Menção Honrosa Curta Metragem de Ficção
Festival Iberico de Badajoz: Young audience award
Faial Filmes Fest Festival de Curtas das Ilhas, Portugal: Prémio RTP2 - Onda Curta
Golden Butterfly Prize for Best Direction at the 24th International Festival of Films for Children & Young Adults

A Late Song: Freelance Whales

This is a bit past Sunday...and Monday too for that matter. My excuse: Deadlines have been looming and I've been buried in an avalanche of Russian essays (in Russian), GIS visualization (map-making in layman's terms), and trying to help put together a lecture that will convince a bunch of eighteen-year-olds that there is much more to studying applied political economy in Europe than study abroad excursions to Spain. 

I'll be back tomorrow to write some and share some wonderful finds I've made in the past few days, but in the meantime I want to share this song from a great little band that my sister introduced me to, the Freelance Whales. Their closest relation in sound is probably Arcade Fire, another love of mine, with their astral sound and choice of instruments. Here's their song "Aeolus," performed live:

Freelance Whales performing Aeolus from their new album Diluvia, available now. 
Get it on iTunes here: http://smarturl.it/freelancewhales 
Find out more here: http://www.freelancewhales.com