Sunday, August 29, 2010


So It's 10:46 pm on sunday night.

My sis and I are sitting in her bedroom listening to NPR's "This American Life". This is a noticeably weird episode. It is about the President of France in the early nineties, Fran├žois Mitterrand, and his last meal. If any of you have spent any time around me, you know that for a long time I used to ask people what their last meal would be, cook it with them, and then send them a photo of it 6 months later. I did this a lot when I lived in Boston. MOST people (with a few exceptions) fall into three categories:
1) Their mom made it for them their whole life
2) It was a treat of exquisite value (lobster)
3) it was something they had every single day (cereal and fruit for a few)

weird, right? Doing this project with several friends, I ate scrambled eggs, fried chicken, Portugese eggs and cod, and PBR and cigarettes. hmm.

But I digress.

So this most informative episode talks about the former President of Frances' last cravings.

One of those things, ironically, being a small, thumb-sized bird called Orelin, which symbolized the French Soul throughout history.
You see, this bird is illegal to cook. It is an overfed, small songbird that has been known to drown in cognac. Hence why the French are drawn to it.


So I wondered.... what food would symbolize the artist soul?? A chicken? ha! A bull?
Maybe a small plate of something "exotic but also simple? Italian? " (my sis) A good Roma tomato? Good when ripe. lousy when spent. No frills, useful and fairly resourceful. Good for a while in the fridge. However, when overly ripe, or totally green, one of the worst things you can use as a main ingredient.
hmm. Any ideas? What food would you be?
My sis says she is ratatouille (stew of tomatoes, onions, squash and zuchinni). Wonderful any time, great side dish, but can be eaten alone. Vegetarian, and thus, modern.

Me, I think I may just be salami.

Wonderfully salty and exotic, easy to get sick of, tied to tradition, pushing barriers of what meat can do. hmm. Oh, and a high percentage of wonderful fat. Revolting to some. Not something you order at a bar, but maybe when you are on vacation. Beloved by traditionalists and foodies alike. I will not inset a cracker joke here. Or the obvious phallic reference.
Not carried at Neither is ratatouille.

So, when you think about it, it is pretty weird that NPR did a story on Mitterrand eating his own country's soul.
Just a thought that maybe could be shared.

Maybe you've got one eyebrow up???

Thursday, August 26, 2010


In every artists' life (or anybody, for that matter) comes a moment (or lots) of rejection. And it is even harder when it is about something you REALLY care about. Be it rejection of an idea, rejection of something you made, rejection of values, rejection from someone. It sucks, no way around it.

You know, I write this blog fairly often (although not in the past 2 weeks...sorry!). I write about things like karma, openness, vulnerability, fear, etc... How the hard stuff in life is supposed to help you out, how it is supposed to make you who you are. How you react to it all is up to you.

First and foremost, I'm full of crap.

I don't mean that in a "oh, woe is me" sort of way. I genuinely cannot do what I write about. I would LIKE to do those things. I would LIKE to react in a positive, open manner when rejection comes busting through my walls. I would LIKE to look at it in the eyes and say it's going to be ok. I would LIKE to not judge myself and those around me.

But in the end, or at least for now, I suck at it. I got rejection yesterday, and I did not act like a little Zen master. Or student. Or anything close to Zen -like, for that matter. I was a little girl, and I wanted someone to go beat up the big bad monster out there. Enough with all the openness... I just want to be comfortable.

Ha. I guess that's not really what I signed up for, is it?

One time my sis and I went for a hike. We both have a weird fear of bears, but for that moment, we were ok. I asked her why she thought we were so scared all the time of such weird stuff. Were we scaredy-cats?? We are both always worrying about everything. Don't jump off of a high rock into the river with these two gals. We will pee all over ourselves with worry that you may hit your head, end up in the hospital, and we have to go along for the ride. She looked at me after I asked this and said, very wittily as always "Mia. Seriously? You are a painter and I'm a writer. We both live our lives in a way that most people would be too fearful to even try. We are just scared of stupid stuff and not important stuff."
Very right she is, most of the time.
Maybe some of you have had this? Your ideals are a little ahead of you? It is not wrong to have ideals. It is a good thing to look at yourself, like this morning, and sort of laugh at how silly you can be, and how off -beat you are.
Sometimes, in my head, I think of the people whom I really admire in my field of work/love/study. I think of them as never truly struggling. They were just BORN talented, and everyone knew it. They never had a mediocre moment in their life. Or, on the flip side, I think they have worked their butts off, and every inch of their development was hard, hard, HARD! work. Excruciating, really.
So I guess I find myself in the middle with not knowing what to do. I'm a hard worker, with moments of laziness. I've been told I'm talented all of my life, but never really enough to believe. I have dedicated myself to art more than many amateurs, but not quite as much as many pros. I have days when I want to quit, days where I feel on top of the world. Days where I wonder what's it all for, days where I think civilization would die if it weren't for art. I'm like everyone else.

And sometimes I react well, and sometimes not so well.

I turn 30 in one week. It's actually not that big of a deal, but I'm feeling it.
Ironically, Tim said to me yesterday," You know, I've heard that your 20s are for figuring stuff out, your 30s are for the hard work, and your 40s are for enjoying the fruits of your labor". In my mind I was saying " F#*@! You mean the hard work is about to START??? What the hell was all of that then???"

Not quite Buddha on the Mountain.

Not me....

That's more like it....

Tuesday, August 3, 2010

Where I come from

In preparing for a POSSIBLE trip to Canada (I'm still waiting for my passport in the mail..), and a birthday coming up, I though I would introduce my parents to the blogisphere.
First, my mom. My mom is an amazing woman who just retired from UPS after working there 10 years. My mom may be good at the branding she did for UPS, but her true love is food. Seriously, folks, she is a total foodie to the max. She is trying to start a private dinner club in Atlanta soon that will feature harvest produce and explore french haute cuisine (I think...). She is an amazing listener to all of my bitching, and has been a supporter of my habit (aka art) since I can remember. Let's just say I got lucky. She is also taking a road trip up the east coast this summer. Check out her blog to see where she is.
And my dad. My dad is a wonderfully creative man. Him and my mom owned a graphic design firm for most of my life in NYC and Atlanta. My dad headed the ship with his ideas and patience for detail. Type is his thing, in graphic design speak. Recently, he decided that it was time to live his dream, and has become a full-time sculptor. That's where I get my weirdness (thanks, dad). Check out his latest creation.... I think it is roughly 3 feet high (maybe bigger..). Very cool!

And since we are on the subject of awesome family members, my sister is a writer (my parents will never retire) , whom I am constantly trying to copy in my blog writings. Her new website is:
She also writes some hilarious pieces for Chattaratti.

Ok, sorry for the personal hoop-la blog, but you gotta give a shout out to your fam every once in a while.