Monthly Archives: January 2017

A Steady Glow

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Me and my friends are turning 50.

Well, I have a few more years, but I have this weird thing where I tend to embrace my future age and think I am that age already. I know I should live in the present, but 50 sounds REALLY COOL. It sounds like silver, chandeliers, and the best champagne. It sounds like Italian masquerade balls, leather jackets paired with feathered skirts. Am I the only one thinking this? I’ve been going to girlfriends’ fiftieth birthday parties lately, and I feel like we are all the same age. So, the conversation about women and age continues. It evolves.

50. I can feel it calling me. All that stuff people say about, “Well, then you don’t care about what people think. You finally do what you were afraid to do before. You just don’t give a f%@#*&!” must be true because I can feel that attitude seeping into my brain already. Yay.

So, my friend Anne-Marie was getting ready to celebrate this magic year and she decided to clean out her closet in honor of this birthday. Excellent. I may have mentioned before that luckily people think of me when they decide to clean out their closets. The fact that I benefit so much from people’s closet clean outs is just encouragement to everyone to broadcast your passion. Your enthusiasm for what you love just makes people want to throw whatever that is at you. Be ready to catch!

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The loot.

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The sad emptiness. You know, when you’re moving, and eventually it has to look like this.

Just to add drama to the birthday closet clean out, Anne-Marie and her family were also moving out of their beautiful old Spanish style house by the sea. It was a happy move, really, but you know how moves always bring up the past. You have to actually look at each object you own, consider it, see if it’s going to make the cut to the future, as the house gets emptier and emptier, all the life going out of it with each box that’s packed.

The house had an in between feel the day I arrived. It wasn’t packed with life, art, textures and color like it had been in the past. Now it had some of the family’s stuff left mixed in with some items that weren’t theirs, but belonged to the stagers.

The morning light was still beautiful though, coming through the old rounded iron paned windows. The elegant bones of the house could not be denied. Anne-Marie greeted me with her welcoming smile at the door. Her warm brown eyes, graceful ease always reminded me of a deer – quietly contemplating as she glides through a forest. We climbed up to her and her husband’s bedroom on the second floor. There was already a pile of inviting clothes on the bed for me to look at. Every time I went through one pile, she brought out more from the closet. I actually dream this exact situation regularly. Literally. While I’m sleeping. That kind of dream. All the while, as I sifted through clothes, making a stack for yes, a stack for no, and a stack for my friend Lissa because it turned out they had VERY similar taste in clothes, we talked.

The sunny poet in a blouse she kept.

The sunny poet in a blouse she kept.

We talked about why she bought that dress that she never wore. “Because I was in the shop and I just felt like I needed something new. I don’t shop a lot. So I picked that. And it was never right on me.” We talked about why she didn’t relate to certain items. “Too girlish, you know?” And we talked about turning 50. “I realized I’m not the young girl anymore,” referring to a pale pink skirt. Of course, we were looking at all the items she was done with. We were not looking at what she was now embracing. So, the conversation, the process was about letting go. Letting go so one can embrace what’s next.

I love what came next.

“And so, my birthday was approaching and I was really thinking about it, and dealing with this moment. Around that time, I decided to go through and read all the poems I had written since my first daughter was born. I read all of them. And you know, reading them really made me feel good. I love my life. I have a great husband. Great girls. Good friends. My life is good.” She said all of this with a measured, reflective tone. I could tell she had really thought about it. I felt like we were in a very important scene in a movie, where all is being resolved.

It was then that I knew that I had to do a Clothes Story about Anne-Marie. I loved that she had already been writing poetry about being a woman, a mother, about aging. I loved that her closet clean out was one way to eventually accept and celebrate who she was now.

In the weeks that followed I sent Lissa her loot (What great fun for her to come home from her HONEYMOON to) and had fun integrating my new items into my outfits. The sweater below is on constant rotation. As is this skirt.

Me, having fun at my kid's school sport extravagalooza. No, I was really having fun. There was an In n' Out Truck and my outfit was so Russian Fairytale thanks to Anne-Marie.

Me, having fun at my kid’s school sport extravagalooza. No, I was really having fun. There was an In n’ Out Truck and my outfit was so Russian Fairytale thanks to Anne-Marie.

Oh, yeah and I really lucked out with this dress from Anne-Marie’s closet. Here, I am a Spanish actress who has dreams of having a spiritual transformation in northern New Mexico. Very High Heels without the high heels because I can’t really wear high heels.

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And so I ask you this: Have you ever had to let go of some past version of yourself in a closet clean out? Tell us now. Who was she, and why were you finished with her?

Sweater by Love 21. Cardigan by matty m. Dress by Bailey 44. Thunderbird necklace is from the dreamland. Earrings are vintage (Taxco, Mexico).

All photos of me by Evan Hartzell.

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Viva Italia

I last worked on the following post October 29, 2016. I got busy with other stuff, and then the election happened. I thought about scrapping the whole post, starting over with a different perspective. Honestly, I even thought about never doing another Clothes Story again. But, those feelings were all part of the grieving process, and now I have a renewed belief in the power of sharing our stories. I also have a renewed appreciation for stepping outside of our bubbles and for being in community. Oh, and the exploration of fantasy and illusion in the film, 8 1/2 is something that’s come up repeatedly in this post truth moment in history. So, without further ado…

One early October morning “certain parents” made the mistake of telling their teen that “Ha, ha, ha, the truth is we don’t know what we are doing!” as they dropped him off for an over night camping trip. Don’t do that. Teenagers’ hormones are trouble enough, and they don’t need their parents sharing their  existential crises – or at least displaying such a dark humor about it. They need their parents to make oatmeal chocolate chip cookies and smoothies and tell them everything is going to be okay.

Early Fall of 2016 I waded into a midlife crises – I’m being dramatic, of course – and in such a dramatic state I started to fantasize about remaking the film, 8 1/2.

From a female artist’s point of view.

Whoa. Whoa. Whoa. Back up. Midlife crises? Why now? Maybe because I had come off a summer where I did things I had previously been afraid to do. That always shakes things up, doesn’t it? I had fallen into a tiny acting role on a friend’s movie – an exhilarating experience. I had also started playing shows with k-blamo on which I do vocals. Another exhilarating experience. Oh, that golden chakra. And the turquoise one, for that matter! Fall meant “back to work”. Even though I had taught all summer, the boys going back to school meant it was time to buckle down in the studio. Buckle down? I didn’t want to buckle down. Like Guido in 8 1/2 I wanted to break out of that traffic-trapped car and float up, up, and away. Something had changed within me, and I needed to explore it further.

In Federico Fellini’s 1963 black and white film, 8 1/2, the main character is an artist as well. He is film director, Guido, just off one production and now being hounded to give his vision for his next film – a science fiction piece, no less. Guido starts out at some sort of healing spa, and ends up swimming in a sea of his own memories and dreams. Marcello Mastroianni, at the height of his cool style quotient, plays Guido.

So, here I am. A female artist wandering the west side of Los Angeles that no movie crew is really looking for. No mistress is showing up – unless she is represented by social media distractions. Instead, my co-conspirator is patiently taking filming direction from me by the bus depot. The bus depot matches my skirt.

Big Blue Bus blue.

Big Blue Bus blue.

Like Guido, the film director character in 8 1/2, I avoid my artistic project’s completion (in this case, a graphic novel that is so long it makes me want to cry) by wandering the city in a beautiful outfit and revisiting my entire life’s story. I even start my journey in my own spa – my childhood bathtub full of healing salts where I end up talking to my mother as if I was ten again, and to the moon outside the window – a window that is no longer there. Fellini talks to his dead parents in a sunny graveyard, suddenly dressed as a priest. Dream sequences, heavy symbols, Jungian imagery that 8 1/2 is known for? Check. Like Fellini, I need a note attached to the camera reminding me that this is a comedy – that life is a comedy. Eventually, Guido contemplates the idea of the “ideal woman” in an actress he wants to cast. I contemplate who I strive to be, as my own “ideal woman”.

How did I get to deciding that a piece of Italian cinema so illustrated my crises? The seed was planted with a wander into an Italian menswear shop. One thing led to another, and through a series of cappuccinos, a visit from Tuscan friends, and on-the-street filming, I ended up at 8 1/2.

Brioni

I like portals, and the Brioni store in Beverly Hills is a portal to the elegant, gorgeous Italian bespoke shops of the 1940’s and 50’s. The Artist and I wandered into this epicenter of fine fabrics and spectacular stylings of fine men’s tailoring one lovely Fall afternoon.

It was the red velvet that beckoned us initially. What is it about velvet suits that grabs us? It’s decadent, luxurious, and oh, so soft. It conjures up falcons, estates, and silver goblets. Three out of four people in my immediate family love velvet suits. My husband even contemplated a velvet suit for our wedding in 1993. One of my favorite moments from a trip to Florence, Italy in 1997 was taking a photo of a business man in a blue velvet suit, standing in a plaza chatting with his friends at lunch time. Casual. No big deal. I performed with a band in a velvet jumpsuit around the same time. Now, The Artist wears a similar, red velvet jacket to the one in the top photo. Velvet is back.

Once inside the store, the atmosphere was all mirrors, gold, and black. I felt like I was inside an Italian race car with bouquets of roses everywhere. We were greeted by Sheila, who because of our enthusiasm (and probably our outfits!) treated us like we were museum goers, and she was the knowledgeable docent.

Clothing can be art to me, especially when they are so well made. Once Sheila told me about the attention and work that went into each suit, handmade in Italy, we bonded about the scene in Valentino, the Last Emperor that shows the handful of seamstresses making one of his incredible dresses. I love that scene – the intricate craftiness of it all. I grew up starting Saturday afternoons at the fabric store with my mom and then going home, each of us with a project at hand, cutting and sewing at the machine. Now, The Artist is pretty skilled himself, manipulating suit jackets with silver thread, vintage buttons, and yes, even adding Rushmore patches like you see on his jacket above.

If the Fall was the filming of my 8 1/2, then Brioni was a trip to the wardrobe department.

Caffe 8 and Half

If there’s catering on this movie set, then for me it would be  Caffe 8 1/2 in Santa Monica which I started getting into this past Fall as well. It’s kind of hidden, but oh so good. EVERYTHING is good here. I kind of went overboard on the sugar last time (Two words: Nutella. Pie.), but I do not dissuade you from completely giving in to the whole experience. Any cafe that has a Fellini theme and a Marcello Mastroianni photo mural wins me over easy. Next time I am trying a panini, for sure. Getting ideas from Yelp at the moment where the reviews are all glowing.img_1318

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Wait, are these photos of my OUTFIT at Caffe 8 and a Half? Why, yes they are.

The owner, Gaetano makes your visit to Caffé 8 1/2 even more special.

The owner, Gaetano makes your visit to Caffé 8 1/2 even more special.

Which brings us back to Brioni because…

On the Brioni website we see some red carpet photos of people wearing their suits, and one of them is of Chiara Mastroianni (French-Italian actress and singer) who is the daughter of Marcello Mastroianni (AND Catherine Deneuve… but that’s a whole other post. Wait, I already did that one). I don’t usually get stars in my eyes, but I swoon for the European art house cinema stars of my youth – my youth of seeing the films back in college, I mean. Marcello actually wears Brioni in this film. His look created a desire for a lighter suit, a more modern, on the go presence that reached all the way across the Atlantic.

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Oh. My. Goodness.

Under a Tuscan Sun

Lastly, there was Tuscany. I had one of those rare, sleepy afternoons this Fall where I curled up with a blanket and a self-indulgent movie. The “airplane” movie was something I found on Netflix called Under the Tuscan Sun. I’m not even going to talk about this movie in the same post as I mention Fellini – but, then again there is a whole character in this film who is obsessed with her past relationship with the great director. She even acts out a scene from one of his movies. Didn’t see that coming. I just wanted an escapist hour and a half, and I am back on set! Besides the always charismatic Diane Lane, the film’s other star is the location of Cortona in the Tuscan province of Arezzo.

Now, here’s the crazy thing. Next thing you know, in the last days of October we were so happy to hook up with our friends visiting from Italy. He was originally one of our good British friends from our year in Leeds, UK. She was the wonderful Italian woman he met while camping in Spain, and lucky us, they brought along their six year old daughter who taught me a bit of Italian. And where do they live? In that same Tuscan province of Arezzo! A highlight of the visit was the little girl trying her first skateboard on the Venice boardwalk. They brought with them a bit of child like curiosity from the village which I so needed.

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Italy was everywhere, and it was guiding me through a Fall of transitions. I entered through a suit shop, took to the streets making a handful of haiku like music videos in support of a new EP, and was infused with fresh energy by our Italian visitors. The summer had already been a gateway to embracing my love of performance, as my partner and I performed music and spoken word at a couple of Los Angeles events (with plans for more!). Like Guido in 8 1/2, I realized a film crew was in fact following me. In this case, the crew turned out to be the world that constantly encourages me to produce, that promises to eat up whatever I make. So, I ordered a new business card… and splattered them all with hot pink acrylic. The circus-like ending to 8 1/2? Maybe that’s what 2017 needs. The artists, the dreamers, the lovers, the activated… dancing in the new year across what looks like a barren landscape, still hoping to make the world sing.