12 April 2024
9:07am Friday
There are a few things that I think about very often: Dan Graham’s memorial service, The Hungarian Pastry Shop, Hua Hsu’s book launch at Pioneer Works, one specific quote I heard in the art room of my high school on the subject of ‘the self’, the kitchen of my childhood home, and my desire to write. (That is a partial list). Maybe I will write about those things here. Maybe I will write about other things. Most of all, I am writing to write.
Not a day goes by in which I do not write – I write for myself, which I realize is a very different experience than writing for others. I consider writing for myself to be an archival practice, driven by a desire to remember. This form of writing that you are currently reading – a form not for myself as the sole audience, not for one specific person to read, and not in an academic context – is new to me. If I conceptualize my personal writing as archival, I envision this ‘blog’ to be conversational.
11:09am
Many sources say "write a blog!". It seems to be a foundational piece of advice given to me at age 23, which, seems to be an age that invites others to advise. On the 12th of February, two months ago, I sat in the staff cafeteria at the museum. An older woman asked to share the table with me. Her eyes were dilated (eye doctor), so I ran one small errand for her (retrieving some mustard and honey mustard). She let me know that she is an editor, and I informed her that I love to write (non public-facing). The key to being a writer is maintaining a blog, it turns out! At least according to her. She keeps an incredibly active blog about Goethe (who I embarrassingly said I did not know, when she spoke his name, when in fact, I just had no idea how 'Goethe' is actually pronounced).
Goethe or no Goethe, the fact of the matter is that having a niche interest makes for an interesting life. Compelled to write on the subject of Goethe, nearly weekly, for sixteen years and counting, she must embody an intimate familiarity with the subject such that thoughts about Goethe are indistinguishable from other passing thoughts. I imagine the blog-keeper views the world oriented through the lens of Goethe, I imagine the inside of her mind to be carpeted and wall-papered in Goethe's words.
My mental decor seems to be mostly composed of nouns: people, places, and things. No one primary academic pursuit fills every cerebral room, however, if I were to reduce my various nouns to one word it would be 'ephemera'. Tangible ephemera, ephemeral feelings, the act of remembering and the language that is in turn constructed in attempt to recreate. I can't seem to stop thinking about it.
'liminal, ephemeral, antipodal' I used to scrawl this small list of three on the last page of my journals. At some point I stopped this practice.
12:28pm
Yesterday, after work, I met with someone on the 5th floor for advice. His suggestion: write a blog. Hmm. There it was again. I left the museum, walked across Central Park, and turned left. The street numbers dropped one by one as I listened to my grandmother in San Diego tell me about an "old lady" she encountered. It made me smile, how, unless you are the oldest person alive, there is always someone who will be older than you. I ducked into the Japanese restaurant, and sat, waiting for E to arrive. We both work at the museum, and this was our first time meeting outside of work (with the exception of his birthday party, where a large crowd gathered in his apartment to sight-read madrigals, except for me, who listened to everyone sight-reading madrigals).
He recounted tales from the world of classical music journalism, tales from his side of the museum, and a rough outline of the past few years of his life, (which was a helpful reference point, considering we had never hung out before). I told him of my eventful start to 2024, and was amused by his response -- with great enthusiasm he urged me to start a blog, with the inaugural post being the story I recounted to him (a love story).
Perhaps two people in one day both suggesting to write a blog was the final nudge necessary to catalyze the existence of this page. Perhaps it was that I've been paying one dollar a month for this domain name for years and it was about time I did something with it. Perhaps most of all, what made me quite fond of the idea of public-writing was that the subject matter that E, a serious classical music critic, was most interested in reading about in blog-form involved matters of the heart. Not academic writing, not literary criticism, but, a tale of a chance encounter that results in love. Everything comes back to love. A Goethe blog is a romance, a classical music blog is amorous.
around 2:40pm
I write with a love of the present moment, for what is to record without the knowledge that one day the words recorded on paper could be read back again? And to know that, on that ambiguous later date, we do not know exactly what feeling those same words will evoke within the reader, even if that reader is the writer themself? Authors, painters, filmmakers, poets, quilters, clothing-makers, anyone who makes anything at all -- anyone who takes a photo, anyone who writes a grocery list, exists in a way that extends beyond themself, beyond their lifetime. For even after death, they can still evoke an affective response. To knit a sweater is to be able to hold someone in perpetuity. The internet feels both mortal and immortal.
If you've made it this far, thanks for reading.
Take care,
SK