I’ve always taken celebrations seriously. And required hats of some kind. I often require dressing up. I can be a ham, and I have friends who are usually comfortable with me asking them to do crazy things, often involving being my moving models. So when Jenna, Kristen and I had a last minute decision to get out of town for my birthday, I wanted nothing more than to get dressed up and have a birthday picnic in Russian River with a few friends who would be up for the fun. It worked. Because this isn’t just what it looked like. As silly as we were, this is what it felt like (with a little help from some cocktails). The nights went on, involving glitter guns and bars and blurriness while out in our fairytale drag. I didn’t think anything could top Capes and Crowns, but I think I proved myself wrong.

(credit to Nick for taking the photos of me!)

I found myself saying (and meaning) this over the weekend, and as sad as it is true, I had to laugh. I’m so happy that I see such beautiful things around me all the time and extra happy when I can take them with me. Here are a few moments that wound up in the mix. Imagine: waking up early to read outside while feeling the sun on your face and drinking iced coffee; meeting friends for macarons and drinks on beautiful days; falling onto the couch after a long day and looking up to art and taxidermy and realizing how much you love home.

Also, a Saturday in DC with my Annie.

New York. Spring. Leaves. Warmth. Quentin and Stephen and Tim. Trains along the Hudson. The Dia Beacon. No photos allowed inside (pain). The breathlessness of walking inside the Dia Beacon. Agnes Martin. The overwhelming emotion of being in a room surrounded by Agnes Martin’s lines. Lines. Robert Smithson’s Map of Broken Glass (Atlantis) on the cold floor. Natural light from above. The feeling of the sun on my face while laying on the grass outside. How did I grow up in a place so close but never know Beacon or the Hudson like this?

maud·lin/ˈmôdlin/

Adjective: Self-pityingly or tearfully sentimental, often through drunkenness.

March began for me with a spontaneous trip to Florida for two gloriously sunny beach days jumping waves and talking and being in the arms of my grandmother. How easily I could have stayed and soaked in the ease of life in warm weather and sand beneath my toes left me longing for college days in southern California.

Shortly after my return to the cold downpour season in San Francisco, I felt bombarded with bad news and the falling apart that comes with blows to a solid routine. Whether it was ending a sulky lunch by slipping in a restaurant full of people or realizing during a friend’s funeral that my dress was torn and I had been mooning the catholic church, breaking fillings or squinting to see art clearly because my tears poured too heavily, March was relentless in testing my strength to find a sense of humor in it all.

But I did, with long days in cafes with friends who I love and the constant reminder that things really could be tremendously worse, that I’m as fortunate as I’ve ever been. As I’ve now entered my last month of my 20s I feel that I’ve never acknowledged how much there is to learn about life and its secrets, feelings yet to be felt, life left to hopefully be lived.

Don’t worry, April gets better. More film tomorrow to pick it all back up, and then soon a wedding that revived my tears back to happy tears.

Once upon a time in late 2011 I stopped into a cute little store called Merch, where I bought Christmas presents and a piece of art for my new apartment. The art reminded me of my art and the walls seemed to beckon me.

With an impulsive afterthought on my way out of the store, I turned back and mentioned to the shop owner that I thought my art belonged here and scribbled my website on a business card.

Shortly after, I heard from Yong, who agreed that my art would indeed belong, and we started preparing what would be the opening of Never As It Seems.

Jenna came to set up with me on Wednesday, supporting my artist-chaos method of covering the floor with art, throwing it into spectrum order, and than randomly puncturing 85 holes in a wall, hoping it would fit. After it was all up and I was giddy with exhausted excitement, Jenna asked me what my goal was for the show. Without a pause, I knew that all I wanted was for people to come to opening night to celebrate.

My wildest expectations couldn’t have prepared me for a store that was packed all night with friends and strangers alike, so many telling me about their favorite pieces and their favorite stories, having fun and sharing in what was my favorite opening and unquestionably my favorite showing.

Endless thank you’s to everyone who came and made the night seem perfect.

A little over a month ago, I received an email from Shannon at Mother Lovely, who had stumbled on my blog and wanted to know how I felt about being interviewed in my capacity as a “creative professional”.

If there’s anything nicer than being considered a “creative professional”, it’s holding the title of “Lovely Lady #15” by such a pretty blog.

Here’s a link to the full post: http://motherlovely.com/2012/03/03/lovely-lady-no-15/

Thanks Shannon and the Mother Lovely crew!

Once upon a time, Kristen started bringing me boxes of Laduree macarons from her trips to Paris and then presented me with the cookbook that launched my obsession with perfecting them. Her returns from frequent trips would bring stories to keep me daydreaming, and by evening we’d talk about the one-day when we would share a Parisian flat that would be all ours.

Though Kristen had chosen not to go back to Paris with us this time, I wasn’t the least bit surprised when we found out in Amsterdam that she had made a last minute decision to meet us. So while Jenna ventured to London and April and I spent a day seeking pretty cafes and a bit of calm, Kristen journeyed over to show us her Paris.

We gave her all of maybe, ten minutes off her plane to put her things in our AirBNB apartment and get moving. The compass in her head lead us all around the city by foot, seeing lovers and color and all of the pretty things that make Paris…Paris.

We had overpriced but extremely tasty smoked salmon and cocktails at Cafe de Flore (has its own Wikipedia entry!?) and then shopped a bit around town before heading to a magical dinner at a Argentinian butcher shop-turned restaurant straight out of the 70s named Unico, gorgeous lovely waiter who became our best friend included.

(a serious Me by April, which according to my husband is an avant-garde version of me who doesn’t look like me)

Sam told us that orange was apparently the color of 2012- So I took this photo for him.

And Then….

Kristen and I brunched and wandered down beautiful little streets of the Marais until stumbling upon the shop that won our hearts (and our afternoon). Stylist Natalie had ultimate patience while we tried on every piece of hand-stiched, locally designed and made clothing, impossible to walk out without buying the whole store.

Me by Kristen doing what I did the whole trip- obsess over The Fountainhead, which I couldn’t put down (unless trying on clothes).

And then Jenna arrived and there were four. Four who understood the value of doing nothing in a little apartment, catching up on news, unwinding before our frenchy chic dinner to celebrate our last night in Paris…

My sadness at finishing my last roll of film for the trip…

And so ends the journey of a photo tour through New York, Moscow, Amsterdam and Paris. My waderlust no closer to appeasement, my camera still yearning to take more film and feel foreign in places both familiar and unknown, my heart still beating for that which makes me whole. Irreplaceable friendship in irresistible places, alive, photographed.

If Moscow was frigid, foreign wonder, Amsterdam was like stepping into summer comfort in your best friend’s back yard while her mother prepared snacks and drinks in personalized frosty mugs. (Noted that the latter might not make sense unless you were in fourth grade in the US in the early 90s).

We arrived after what seemed like five days of not sleeping to a massive ancient yet gorgeously modern apartment a la AirBNB which felt like a mansion to us. We had a kitchen and could make copious amounts of tea, hardwood floors that would later be used for a late night dance floor, and separate sleeping spaces for each of us (three levels including an uber cute loft). Within minutes of arriving I was calling my Dutch friend Sam to come and hang out with us, spend Valentines Day with three ladies, and then entertain our silliness while we eased into the next stage of our journey.

Jenna and I spent a morning vintage shopping and walking for *hours*, getting a tad lost, then meeting up to eat at the most awesome restaurant (taxidermy and historic mushrooms in jars included) where we were able to stay for hours, reading our books by the fire and consuming too much caffeine. So much of our time in Amsterdam was like this- gorgeous restaurants and cafes recommended by the Wallpaper guide, reading and chatting, just being, being warm, being comfortable.

We wound up back at the Belgian beer place, a favorite from my visit in 2010, where we played Jenna’s genius new drinking game that involved Sam kissing a cat and putting on a stranger’s coat, April drawing inappropriate things on a public chalkboard and walking to the bathroom without her shoes, Jenna talking to strangers and buying a round because she refused to make my toy horse talk, and my chugging and stealing an ashtray- all followed by some hilarity and a late night in house dance party to Whitney Huston.

a photo of me that I forgot Sam took

can you see the black cat to the left?

I ended my visit to Amsterdam in the best way imaginable, fearing for my life while riding home side-saddle on the back of Sam’s bicycle while he talked on the phone with one hand and dodged bikes and cars and people, me then freaking out that he was not to take calls again. I took this photo of him when we stopped on his favorite bridge.

Until next time, Amsterdam.

Sometime early in the month, we checked the weather projection for Moscow and Jenna asked “whose stupid idea was this?” Who goes to Russia on vacation in the middle of February? We did, and while it was indeed a sort of extreme sport to stay un-frost bitten, the experience left the same satisfaction of surviving an extreme sport- but for three days. Grand opulence and confrontational history at every turn, Moscow managed to feel friendly and warm and completely different from anywhere else (even in the most intense cold imaginable).

A friend in SF had introduced us via email to two sets of people before we left: the older set who could show up with guns if we were in trouble (fortunately not necessary, though the police did seem like they might capture us for no reason) and the younger set who might be able to show us some fun. Meeting I and A and their group of friends felt a bit like winning the lottery. As seen in my previous post, there was no shortage of fun, including Georgian food at a restaurant with a live-in goat, scary rides in real gypsy cabs (I: “ok, let’s all split up, one good negotiating Russian per car, see you all there”) and passing “face control” (A: “They’re cold, they’re from San Francisco- let them in the club”).

With the exception of a fall by A, a wee train station anxiety attack by me, and some seriously intense jet lag, we couldn’t have had a more wonderful time in Russia had they been the nicest Spring days in the world. And hey, who gets to say they watched their friend’s eyelashes freeze before their eyes?

Red Square and the mall that saved us when we realized we needed to get indoors NOW

New Tretyakov Art Gallery

So much amazing art that we weren’t allowed to photograph (I snuck these :) Favorites were this and this and this and this.

Warming

Breakfast below 20 at Upside Down Cake

Ha, this is when we went next door for breakfast (and saved, say, $100 from the previous morning’s breakfast in the hotel)- and realized it seemed a bit colder than yesterday, best to go back for more layers. We then checked the weather- it was -26*f …Yeah.

Arbat

Despite realizing how insanely cold it was, we trekked to the Arbat area which was gorgeous. We spent more time outside this day than previous days, winding down cute little streets, seeing amazing architecture, peeking into shops to stay warm…

Unfortunately, this is also where a photo or two go missing. I’m not sure why, but I do remember changing film on the street while my hands got frost burned.

Imagine looking down a pretty street lined with big ancient street lights and colorful buildings…

and streets filled with huddles of humans dressed as big minky bear fur people, holding hands and banding together for warmth.

Kremlin

Leaving the Kremlin amazingness

Not scared. Not scared. Not scared.

I would marry this photo of Karli at BAM/ PFA because I’m in love with everything about it.

(Bonus if you can imagine the loud, live sound of High Places echoing throughout the gallery below us.)

She didn’t know I took a photo of her and was surprised when I told her it was her last night.

And then I’d potentially consider having affairs with these photos of April and Jenna on separate mornings at Cafe Gitane in New York even though the best part of Gitane is the colors and my camera was filled with black and white film.

I also took a series of (now seemingly boring) photos out of the plane window of our approach into Moscow to show both the vast expanse of nothingness ad the endless fields of ice and snow. This one is of a half accident and half crazy tall Russian trees.

And so begins the journey of seven rolls of film over 11 days. Next week, the tale of three cities.

I lay in bed in a jetlag haze while images danced before my eyes. Sam to the left on his favorite bridge silhouetted in front of a dusky blue sky and bright gold bulbs- Kristen blurred while walking in front of Café de Flore, in focus while paused on a ledge, then blurred again against the back drop of a fluorescent Spanish bar. Of the Mazzo sign reflected in a table, two paintings in a Dutch restaurant- the cake stands at a Russian bakery- gold opulence of a Kremlin cathedral and the blue detailing of another. Me against a wrought iron door in a vintage blue dress, red lipstick and a gold geometric necklace from my husband.

I’ve been asked a few times where the photos are and why I haven’t posted them. Well, I haven’t seen them yet. Like little un-hatched eggs after a period of incubation, they’re being born at Photoworks. While I fell short of my 10 rolls in 10 days goal, seven rolls of 120mm film are being processed and will be ready tomorrow afternoon.

The lack of instant gratification has been met with beautiful anticipation and the pleasure of hearing that manual “click” of each shot. While totally impractical for events like weddings, I had no desire to shoot anything but film this trip after the first day in Moscow. I wanted to be deliberate and thoughtful, to compose and observe, to savor each moment I captured.

I missed images because of this. The dog larger than any dog I’d seen before trotting along the streets of Paris. The old ladies holding hands in massive fur coats in Moscow. Fun group photos and pretty much all photos after dark. But when I sleepily thought back on those rolls of film I carried around with me through four cities, I could remember almost all 84 shots and what I was thinking with each.

Curiosity might have killed the cat, but it brought pleasure to the photographer who will find a collection of memories on film tomorrow.

The story and many rolls of film will come soon, but for now, here’s an update of the past few days on the road.

A quick stop in New York meant dinner with one of my favorite people in the world, Q.

I also got to introduce him to J & A

And he introduced us to minty Fernet.

Moscow will need a post of its own when film is developed and we’ve had the chance to process. The past two days have been fully surreal, absolutely wonderful, and currently impossible to articulate. But until then, here is a bit of what it’s felt like so far.

Soundtrack: Russian club techno

Smell: frozen air

Taste: Vodka that doesn’t sting & pickled herring to prevent hangovers

Touch: Frozen upon exposure

Without windchill: -13*f at the warmest part of the day

Warmth from: our new friends from Russia on the illuminated dancefloor

It doesn’t take much to convince me to travel, but when a lady says “Come to Mexico this Friday”, you don’t ask questions. You buy a ticket. You reward yourself for getting through December with your head still attached and for being a constant hard worker.

This long weekend in Mexico with two close friends might have been the first real do nothing vacation I’ve had in almost five years. I brought only film and books and Elliot the Horse. The wifi didn’t work and the weather was perfect, so we lounged and ate and drank cocktails by the sea. The Cuban dance floor begged us to dance, the music called our names. Mesmerized by the beauty of the flow that is Mexico.

We chanced to meet a local with a boat on our last night who offered to take us around before we left. Dolphins and pufferfish came to greet us, the ocean embraced us, and the warm Mexican breeze enveloped us.

Thank you Mexico for the calm you replaced in us. Paused. Reset. Ready to play again.

I was on a train recently and looked around while thinking about Death. How it’s not something most of us think about often, and that living seems so easy, hearts seem to keep beating unless they stop. How they keep beating and how life keeps living seems almost impossible, but it does, until it doesn’t.

I found out yesterday that a really wonderful friend died this weekend. She was doing something adventurous and then her life ended. She would have been 30 in a little more than three months, a day before me.

I can’t really comprehend what it all means or how long it will hurt like this, but as A reminds me, she would be wanting us to celebrate not only her life, but our own. She was like that. She was always so proud of her friends and so determined to make the most of life. She was a little crazy and always smiling. I loved this about her.

LQ was one of the few friends who trekked to Australia to watch me get married and sign my marriage certificate. These are some photos I took of her on that night.

Goodbye, my LQ. How I’ll miss you and will always, always be loving you.

I think my favorite place to take photos of people is in homes. This is April in my home shortly after Christmas. She had just come back to SF after spending the holidays away and I was thrilled to see her. We had brunch and walked around for hours, shopping and talking, and then came back to my house to have tea and quesadillas and do some work. The house was quiet and I was sitting on the floor and I noticed how beautiful she looked under my windows. I like when my camera is near me at times like this.

There were also some funny goat photos on this roll of film from Jenna’s birthday farm dinner.

This is what being on a goat farm feels like. My cape was covered in goat spit.

This woman started the New Year fully clothed in the ocean.

And last, D took this of me on New Years Day while we wandered around Muir Beach together. It was the perfect way to start a New Year.