list thirty-four: things to do this spring

in no particular order:

1. break out the bike

2. keep the vases filled with ranunculus

3. teach a workshop

4. rearrange the collections

5. study portraits

6. watch the trees in the front yard explode with pink blooms

7. stand in the aftermath

8. bring out the mismatched yellow floral plates

9. celebrate four years of living in portland

10. paint a couple dozen eggs

11. lose self in tulip fields

12. revel in the extra hour of light

13. hoard marshmallow peeps

14. hoard orange jellybeans

15. shoot more rolls of film with the canon

16. paint with mati, cook with tracy

17. head downtown to the farmers market

18. revisit old family vacation photographs

19. watch for the poppies and the peonies

20. participate in spring color week

21. order saltwater sandals

22. plant seeds

23. prepare for this kid's seventh birthday

24. spend a day wandering

25. escape with friends

26. hang new string lights in the backyard

27. shoot more of the impossible project's glorious new PX 680 color film

28. plan the season's first picnic

29. find out what the center of the earth looks like

30. wear the edith piaf record out

31. take dance class

32. pray for sun

when it rains, it pours

apparently, we are teeming with double decker buses here in portland, oregon. I mean, really. behold the newest grilled cheese grill location.

for your monday

today, an old favorite. watch and be delighted.

(via poppytalk)

hello ghost town

a little bit more from the shoot with my brother. details: ray, an australian horse hauler plus downtown cairo, illinois plus PX 600 silver shade UV+ film.

letterpress, friends

two memories come roaring into focus when I think of my maternal grandfather-- the time I tap danced for him in white plastic dime store sandals and the image of him hard at work in the back room of his printing shop. the rest is as mysterious to me as the massive printing presses we often tiptoed around when we visited him at work.

I was seven when he died. eventually, my grandma was forced to sell the business, equipment and all. I remember the last time we stood in the shop, how it still smelled the way it did all those times we visited-- sharp, like paper and ink, like hard work and long nights. my grandma opened a long, slender wooden drawer (one of what seemed like hundreds) and told us to pick a few pieces of type out. go ahead, she said. something to remember your grandpa by. I was too young to appreciate the significance behind the gesture but I reached in and chose a few pieces anyway. a lowercase letter 'a' and a rose. they were small but heavy in my hand and left faint charcoal smudges on the pink of my palm.

letterpress: tis the subject of my latest covet column in issue eight of UPPERCASE, an issue solely devoted to the art of letterpress. gorgeous, I tell you. every last letterpress-loving page. as always, I'm honored to be a contributor.

I do believe my grandpa would be proud.

because we have things like this

sometimes I wonder why I don't just move someplace with more sun already. someplace where there is not a constant grey furrowed brow hovering directly over the entire city. where it doesn't rain for what feels like weeks on end, where summer actually starts in june. you know, when it's supposed to.

but then there's lodekka, portland's double decker vintage dress shop. and pretty bridges and a thousand food carts and green things all around and more old school dip and dunk style photobooths than I even know what to do with. and humidity-free summers and the best book store in the world. and then, for the most part, I'm okay. because it's hard to be mad at the rain when you're shopping for vintage aprons on the top floor of a '65 double decker bus. it's hard to be mad at anything, really.

places spaces

I'm over at habit again this month. I'll tell you, I've really grown to love the practice of shooting and writing a sentence or two about each day. harder than I thought it would be but rewarding, so very wildly rewarding.

san francisco on film

more of that san francisco trip, more from that camera.

but what I really want to talk about are the clogs. people, the clogs. the hand-painted clogs. you must understand, I have been walking around in a sad, nearly soleless pair of boots. this is because I wear things down to the nubs. shoes, socks, blouses, jeans, leggings, skirts, bras, tights, dresses. I find something I love and I wear it to death. I wear it until it cannot, should not be worn again. and then I just keep on wearing it, hoping no one will notice. sadly, I'd come to the end of the road with my favorite pair of brown boots-- boots in such horrible condition I might as well have been walking around barefoot. also, I was in serious denial. so on my last day in san francisco, my friend leslie said I AM TAKING YOU TO THE SHOE SHOP AND YOU ARE BUYING NEW SHOES. and I hemmed and I hawed but we ended up at the shoe shop anyway.

first, I poo-pooed all the boots. then I tried on about a million pair of practical-looking brownish blackish clogs. I nearly had myself talked into a pair. I thought, yes. this is what I need. cushy comfy practical brownish blackish. however, the section of hand-painted clogs kept calling out to me and leslie kept saying JUST TRY THEM ON ALREADY. she had to push a little because well, I was in practical mom mode. I am a hard nut to crack when I am in practical mom mode. I broke and tried on a pair (many pairs, actually). according the sales clerk, a swedish woman comes into the shop once a month to paint them and she paints each pair differently. each pair is one of a kind. I don't know but that sort of sold me. well, that and leslie's gentle pushing. because, you know. sometimes you just need a little push in the right direction.

and so I am happily wearing said hand-painted clogs. happily, down to the nubs. and every time I look down, I smile. because of that little bright-colored crown of flowers, yes, but also because they make me think of san francisco and my sweet friend and how good it feels to laugh in the face of practicality.

testing testing

sampling of shots from the sweet new (old) canon FTb. like I said, I'm in love.

and there she was

just sitting there. surrounded by ceramic kittens and plastic tumblers. unbelievably, at the thrift store. on a day when I was broke as a joke, on a day when fifteen dollars seemed like a crapload of money. but of course, I could not, did not walk away. fifteen dollars! beautiful 50mm1.4 lens, hippie strap and all. I KNOW.

feels like a tank in my hands, feels like heaven. shot a couple of rolls and I am in love. I do believe my nikon is jealous.

(here come the scans, peoples)