Wednesday, September 26, 2012
Video One, released!
Breakfast/International.
Here is the first in the series of videos that will be coming out about our time this summer in Sichuan. I am so happy with the way they take you right to the smell, the calm, the congested, the lights, the ancient. Do hope you enjoy!
Monday, September 17, 2012
left-overs
My darling dear Grandma Chipman passed away this summer, and it has been incredibly strange and sort of wonderful sorting through all that she left behind, physical and not. What a force of a life. Along with some vintage sunglasses, a pearl hair clip and some really awesome sweaters, I was given a box of old sheet music, which I have been having a great time sorting through. The change happened in just 50 or so years--charming and shocking to be reminded of.
This is from a little magazine collection of popular songs. Quite a different sort of dancing than goes on these days. And amazing people studied out new dances and knew so many.
Monday, September 10, 2012
el pelo
"A girl with short hair is a shame." -- Actual human
A girl's relationship with her hair is, well, a surprisingly important and influential thing on her experience in life, view of herself, and other's view of her.
I've always thought how strange aliens observing us would find it, us trimming and primping these dead cells coming out of our heads, painting them with chemicals to watch it turn different colors, endlessly straightening and curling, torching with hot air and spraying with mystery liquids.
But you can see why. Hair is beautiful. It is. Long, short, curly, stick straight. It's a pretty great feature of the human body.
Until I was 4, I was blonde. Then brown, shoulder length. In first grade, I sucked on the ends of my hair (What, it was right there. Yes, I know it's gross.) to the point my mom threatened and then did in fact give me a matching bowl-cut with my little brother. My sister had gorgeous, unruly long hair that she and my mother seemed to vacillate between loving and loathing trying to control. I always loved it. But also didn't mind in the least looking very much like a boy in my own hair.
Eventually it grew, and in junior high and high school, my hair remained mid-back length. At a time of identity search and solidification, it became a huge part of Brinn. I was the girl with the long pretty brown hair. I loved my hair, and while I didn't own a curling iron, straightener, or hairspray, I did all sorts of different braids and twists and found my creative outlet I suppose in my locks. From time to time, thoughts of shaving it all off would come, just to see what that would feel like and if it would change how I felt about myself. I sort of loved the power of this idea to make me simultaneously smile and get super nervous.
A girl's relationship with her hair is, well, a surprisingly important and influential thing on her experience in life, view of herself, and other's view of her.
I've always thought how strange aliens observing us would find it, us trimming and primping these dead cells coming out of our heads, painting them with chemicals to watch it turn different colors, endlessly straightening and curling, torching with hot air and spraying with mystery liquids.
But you can see why. Hair is beautiful. It is. Long, short, curly, stick straight. It's a pretty great feature of the human body.
Until I was 4, I was blonde. Then brown, shoulder length. In first grade, I sucked on the ends of my hair (What, it was right there. Yes, I know it's gross.) to the point my mom threatened and then did in fact give me a matching bowl-cut with my little brother. My sister had gorgeous, unruly long hair that she and my mother seemed to vacillate between loving and loathing trying to control. I always loved it. But also didn't mind in the least looking very much like a boy in my own hair.
Eventually it grew, and in junior high and high school, my hair remained mid-back length. At a time of identity search and solidification, it became a huge part of Brinn. I was the girl with the long pretty brown hair. I loved my hair, and while I didn't own a curling iron, straightener, or hairspray, I did all sorts of different braids and twists and found my creative outlet I suppose in my locks. From time to time, thoughts of shaving it all off would come, just to see what that would feel like and if it would change how I felt about myself. I sort of loved the power of this idea to make me simultaneously smile and get super nervous.
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