Off The Wall
Saturday. Didn't get to sleep until after eleven as I got wrapped up in reading/looking through Bob Dylan's Revisionist Art, a book that caught my interest when it was mentioned in the current issue of Rolling Stone and so ordered it through Amazon. My first reaction was, well, fine, but no cigar.
It consists of an interesting series of thirty Photoshopped magazine covers with enough naked women to keep me turning the pages, but again, a lighter weight exercise at first glance and no cigar. And then I read the narrative, became interested in how it was constructed and realized I needed to go back and look at it more closely. What is he up to? Which I may well do. I mean I really may well do later today. My own journey into Revisionist behavior.
The local farmers market today, at least worth a walk. I learned through Twitter there's a demonstration planned in San Francisco on Sunday I may photograph, so the weekend isn't without interest. We'll see. A favorite phrase. But something I may attend, particularly as I can say it today about something that doesn't need delivery until tomorrow.
Later. Time earlier reworking one of the artandlife pages to allow it to display larger photographs before thinking to test it on the laptop with its normal size screen, realizing I've recently been running one or two large photographs here in the journal without thinking through how others may be able to view them.
My computer workstation screen is designed for graphics work and has a larger resolution (and size) than most you'll find. The new “larger” image didn't even come close to fitting on the laptop. So much for a larger picture project.
Later still. Still quite overcast with some of the clouds to the north looking ominous. The wind is coming from in off the ocean to the west where it appears to be clear, so no rain and a little sun now as it grows later.
A walk by the farmers market and on to the morning café for ice cream and coffee. A walk then back along the lake, stopping to sit at one of the benches to watch people pass by. Runners, walkers, bicyclers, men and women pushing baby carriages with some of the usual suspects active in the background, all potential photographs.
The trees along the lake have yet to show any leaves or flowers, although the cherry blossoms have been out in the neighborhood, so these are the first signs of spring showing this week. Spring is here, summer is coming and the head is scheming new schemes and projects.
The rusty me is noticing the sloth, the lack of ambition and energy and poking at old projects now coming to life. The question is how much life. I am curious. Finishing that 11"x14" print project, for example, will I? How long will it take? Or is this period of sloth now essentially permanent, the sun coming through, but the window closed?
That seems overly dramatic.
Thus is prose.
Evening. I watched the Korean soap that starts at five-thirty on the weekends. I figured I could catch the Saturday six o'clock Swedish detective program on its station when it plays again later at nine. I've done this in the past, although the series puts me off as often as it draws me in.
This resulted in an hour of switching back and forth, interest in this, discontent with that. Maybe my early evening television habit is wearing off. No thought as to what might replace it, some move to find better fare on the other stations that most people receive. Movies, maybe? There was a time I would read. Again, scattered thoughts, too much introspection, probably another reaction to the arrival of spring.
More babbling before bed.
Now, now. I'm no longer employed and have time for introspective walks and ruminations on subtitled television soaps.
And so we're watching House, of course. Nothing off the wall going on there.