bundle of sticks
Colin and I sometimes like to spend our nights at Boarders reading fancy magazines that we could ever actually buy. We sit at the cafe, look out over union square and glean through current media as if it were candy.
In the past few weeks, the fear of being out of touch has been lurking at my doorstep. I listen to that one LCD sound system song that’s theme is something along the lines of, “I’m loosing my edge to the kids, but they are really nice.” And start to feel a bit of nostalgia for a time when I was young, and could-have-been “edgy.” (ok, I know, most likely I was never edgy, just thought I had some grit. Grit for a mid-western-suburban white chick means wearing Tom’s shoes, or eating organic.
Nevertheless, here we are, 27 years old, and looking at Rachel Goodyear. Whom I find to be both pretty and pretty salty. I was afraid to post my favorite image of hers at the risk of offending my mother. Her soft water-colors remind me that someday, maybe someday, bloody someday, I could make work that other people, not unlike myself, might find interesting.