George’s Girl Takes 5

Here we have it: The First Edition.

A recap of the week’s sounds, smells, sights, touches, and tastes from a girl who lost her father but not herself. 

Let it be said that I had my first date with Photoshop this weekend. These images are my notably novice creations. What’s the phrase, Rome wasn’t built in an hour?






  • Grateful. Under a grey sky, someone new took me somewhere new.
  • Surprised. A beautiful stranger left this anonymous note, and a book titled “50 paintings you should know” for me. Whoever you are, Thank You.

Nicole, You inspire me everyday. I hope this brings you some more inspiration to fuel your mind and soul.

  • Able bodied. Started my running regiment for my Israel half marathon. The lungs and buns are burning.
  • Shocked. It’s been almost sixth months since I’ve seen/heard/spoken to the greatest man I’ve ever known.
  • Progress. I finished the prelude this week – now to polish, and polish some more.
  • Relaxed. Been going to acupuncture. I haven’t a clue if it’s working, but if it’s wrong, I don’t want to be right.


  • Gluten Free Chocolate Lavender Cupcakes with Cream Cheese Frosting. I spent Friday night baking these bad boys. They tasted like a somersault, back rub, sun salutation, and bear hug all in one.
  • Gin. Which is one letter away from grin. Which is what happens to me when I drink it.


  • The skies in San Luis Obispo. They explode at sunset.
  • The hills, the valleys, the stretches of road, the glittering tides, the rows of vines.
  • More chances to grow.


Scentless Sunflowers,

when I close my eyes, my nose

detects your brightness.

  • Stables. I visited a friend in Atascadero this weekend. Helped her feed the horses (!!) and enjoyed a night in with plates full of salmon, and ears full of John Coltrane.
  • America. Beers, Bean dips and everything in between, Super Bowl XLVII wasn’t won by the Ravens, but by Pinterest. Thank you, pretty little push-pinned site for exposing so many finger licking good recipes to taste and taste and taste some more.

Hear: [this week’s repeat offenses]

  • Beethoven’s Appassionata
  • The Head and the Heart
  • Kendrick Lamar
  • Gregory Alan Isakov
  • Blue Foundation
  • Gustav Holst
  • Trampled By Turtles
  • Passion Pit

And there we have it, friends. An overview of a week in the life of a girl who plain and simply is not fatherless.

If you’re so inclined, a sneak peak behind the serious curtain:

February 3, 2013

It dawned on me yesterday as I was driving down the grade.

Foot off the gas, heat expanding my pores and drying out my hands. It’s February, I thought. I’m entering the sixth month without my father.

Alone in my car, plunging into the valley, my breaths became shallow and my shoulders caved. I realized I didn’t cry once in January, and I panicked.

Was I forgetting about him? Am I okay without him? I don’t want that; I can’t possibly be.

And as if cued in by an omnipotent conductor, tears fell, dropping in time to a song I had on repeat. Some shot down like pellets, some lazily serpentined down my cheeks. Some stung more than others. All blurred the construct of reality I had unintentionally crafted for myself during the previous month.

January was busy. Filled with progress and opportunity, newness and fondness, it arrested my time and attention in such a way that I hardly noticed the handcuffs. If not people, then things. If not things, then thoughts, if not thoughts then work, if not work then something. I was always surrounded.

But in my car, with this song on a relentless loop, the message drilled into my every cavity and I found my solace.

I realized how in grieving, my mind demands expansive time to itself. That crucial exploration of self via sensations or wonder or the complete absence of the two.

I cried for my father’s short life, for mine, and for the uneasiness I feel when my alone time is chipped and chiseled away.

Tonight I am reflective about my week. About this month, about my father. About the way I choose to spend the time I’m gifted. It appears as though this little series is becoming my own little prescription pad. Just by seeing the writing on it, I already feel better.

The two together

American photographer, Diane Arbus, captured deviant and marginal people whose normality seemed ugly or surreal. Her favorite subjects were dwarfs, giants, transgender people, nudists, and circus performers.

Swedish-Argentine specimen of perfection, José González, created this addictive listen with side-project-band, Junip.

His lyrics fold into her photographs like flour overlapping eggs beaten and sugar stirred.

Play. Scroll. Wonder.

No one else around you
No one to understand you
No one to hear your calls
Look through all your dark corners
You’re backed up against the wall
Step back from the line of fire



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Martin Van Buren?

Things I took away from third grade:

  1. The slow baby bouncy kick ball pitch
  2. Cursive

Things I was taught in third grade, promptly forgot, and now rely on incognito Google searches for which to mask my subpar knowledge:

  1. State capitals
  2. The names and order of US Presidents.

These graphic designs/typographical masterpieces are hands down too cool for school.

Presidents19 Presidents18 President17 President16 Presidents15 U.S. Presidential Portraits Presidents13 Presidents12 Presidents11 Presidents10 Presidents9 Presidents8 Presidents7 Presidents6 Presidents5 Presidents4 Presidents3 Presidents2 Presidents

Rain fate

With every intention of getting to bed early, I did like the rebellious Aries I am, and stayed up late to accompany the sound of falling rain with pen strokes.

I’ve been drawing.

Portraits, mostly. Sketches of men with downward cast eyes, or outlines of the female form – full bodied and fuller hearted.

And just when I thought the night couldn’t get any more fulfilling, I laid my eyes on Pablo Picasso’s light drawings from 1949. They’re like sugar coated cranberries on top of goat cheese on top of an artisan cracker: all kinds of right.

picasso08 picasso07 picasso06 picasso05 picasso04 picasso03 picasso2 picasso

it was 1949 when Pablo was introduced to Gjon Mili, a photographer who at the time worked for LIFE magazine – where he demonstrated some of his images of ice skaters with lights fixed to their skates, jumping in the dark.
Fascinated from the results, the spanish artist then conceived a series of projected light drawings in a dark room with two separate cameras and a small electric light attempting to ‘paint’ his versions of centaurs, bulls and greek profiles.

Worth it

The truth of the matter is, there are so many cool people in the world.

Meet Sandra Juto and Johan Pergenius – Illustrator & Graphic Designer, Berlin.

Read their interview and peek into the apartments of other cool cats living happy little lives all over the world. Godspeed and good luck not spiraling into a time suck of cyber gawking. I may or may not have just lost an entire dog year to this website.

Juto&Pergenius3  Juto Pergenius 2 Juto PergeniusJuto&Pergenius Juto&Pergenius11 Juto&Pergenius10Juto Pergenius 3Juto Pergenius 4 Juto&Pergenius9 Juto&Pergenius8 Juto&Pergenius7 Juto&Pergenius6 Juto&Pergenius5 Juto&Pergenius4 Juto&Pergenius12 Juto&Pergenius2

Getting Up

This morning, somewhere between hitting the snooze button for the eighth and ninth time, I began to believe I would never make it out of bed. I sunk deeper beneath the sheets; wrapping my legs tightly around each other I touched cold toes to warm calf. Then switched.

I visualized myself playing hooky, and embracing a Day in the Life of my pillow. After all, from its perspective there lies no adversity, no conflict, no turmoil – only a heavy head expecting nothing but silent comfort.

I got up, though. I went to work, ate a fine meal, hewed to my mother’s thrifting ways and got a helluva (is that you, Holden Caulfield?) discount on a Banana Republic necklace, sang some Russian, played some Russian, and vanquished the frenetic mold that ever so rudely invited itself into my apartment. I lived my Monday. I am alive.

The theme below still applies, especially with Anna Palma’s brilliant photographs as visual support.

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Anna Palma_3 Anna Palma

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Anna Palma 5  Anna Palma 4  Anna Palma 6 Anna Palma 7 Anna Palma_2

And a couple to tout something other than the tots. Man, she’s good.

Anna Palma_woman Anna Palma_women

Two Things

It’s nights like these where I question the motives behind curiosity. Are they pure? Are they genuine? Striped with maliciousness or judgement?

At a local cafe, a peevishly affectionate couple slouching with their legs and lips intertwined sit on my left, while a starry-eyed pair with nervous smiles and glistening palms take stage right.

And I’m sitting here between the two, desperately trying to keep my darting eyes discrete. Calmly drinking my second choice of tea, wearing my brown cardigan, camouflaging with the aging leather sofa that supports my languid Sunday body, I craft their stories in my head. Happily observing their realities with curious eyes and ears while I dream up their elaborate backstories.

It’s entirely possible that these two couples have nothing in common but the fact that they are both here, both connected by the manner in which they spend Sunday, November 11, 2012.

To mirror that theme, here are two things that have arrested my attention tonight independent of each other – two things with nothing in common but the time they occupied my curiosity on this chilly November night.

1. (A select few of) The Best Pictures Of the Week: November 2-9, as declared by TIME


2. Sarah Graham’s Botanical Works.

 I’m driven to strong, natural forms, in particular the curve and the arch, and to the energy that’s involved in creating those shapes.

 -Sarah Graham


These are visual narratives of a fictional family photo album.

Alyson Fox

If I were to create a Family photo album of October 10, 2012…

…It would house nothing but the most colorful and raw imagery. Bryanna and I showed our striking likenesses tonight. As cousins. As friends. As women of the same age and ailments. We stuffed our senses with Cajun Salmon and the burning wicks of scented candles. We soaked our cheeks with salt and our minds with perspective.

…It would guard sketches of bell peppers and hummus, dark chocolate, and a single mason jar. An air tight vault serving no more a purpose than to hold our secrets safe.

Tonight, Bryanna and I wrote down what’s been on our minds. Cursive, print, bullet points, gobbledigook, didn’t matter. We just wrote to the sounds of David Ramirez in a boundless stream of consciousness and sealed up our valuables only to set them free to the Avila beach sea.

Somewhere, on some shore, our jar will wash up, and the person reading will become part of our family.

night light

When the paradoxes of life sucker punch me in the solar plexus, Singapore-based artist, Izziyana Suhaimi, arrests my attention while I listen to American Son.


a 10 is a 10 is a 10.


We place great importance on numbers. Universal and concrete by nature, they are our reference points, the cruxes of our arguments, and our home bases. They also make for digestible goals.

Here are 10 reasons I’d like to try something new this week, like drying herbs.


And here are 10 reasons why I need to invest in new threads.

via amy merrick and beautiful nomad

I move to approve October.

October has no flaws. It should be the start of our calendar year.

I’ll start pushing the necessary papers to ensure this motion gains some momentum. In the meantime, all in favor of getting Stitch Design Co. to sponsor a universal calendar? Such. Good. Design.

Light Cloud

Tears on an old green sweater. Salt on an open wound. Vegetable chili in a pot.

When it rains, it pours. When it rains, beautiful people hint at the notion of a sun. Olivia, that stunning, inquisitive, powerhouse of a sensitive designer/loveofmyliferoommate brought me so much worth tonight. Not only did she give my moments license to blossom, she coauthored them with her wisdom. A night that started flush with the carpet, shallowly breathing the trappings of Radiohead on high, ended with an extensive and curious conversation around the themes of time, control, play, cultural movements, progress, resistance, ostracism, and the parallelisms between humans and buildings. If you don’t yet have an architect friend, whither wander you, set forth and find one!

via Cloud and incandescent illumination   




What I’ve been up to

Been listening to a lot of jazz music lately. Been closing my eyes and letting my head make subtle circular motions around my center of gravity, following the sequences to their peaks with a raise of my left brow and a letting a soft smile travel across my lips. Been allowing the brass to melt over me, leaving it to swallow my thoughts. Been letting the stand up bass sink me and string me along to depths that ring, to hallows that resonate. Been empty headed during complexities. Been lost for words. Been thinking in hues of maroon and falling fast. Been resting my eyes like a fourteen-year-old practices consideration. Been feeding my soul meals that heighten sensory sensations.

Henri Rousseau was for dessert tonight. I’ve been up to a lot of dessert lately.