Exploration of Space

Some more ventures in calligraphy. Spacely words are out of the ordinary, and thus very interesting to produce.

I might embark on a project where I explore the A-Z of space via creative lettering. Stay tuned.

[currently listening to: Bat for Lashes- The Haunted Man]

The Past and Present Sea

When I was younger, my grandfather used to tell me that the color of the ocean once matched his eyes.

I stare out into the churning liquid expanse and think to myself… impossible.

My grandfather’s eyes were the color of antique jade. Not quite blue, and not quite green—a soft blend of the two, a color I rarely saw after he passed away. Sometimes, depending on the intensity of the surrounding light source, they would vary in hue. How I wish I had inherited those eyes... my mother’s genes had prevented that from happening, and it is with dark chocolate eyes that I look out across the waves.

Waves that, if anything, matched the color of my own eyes. For as long as I can remember, it has always been like this. The turbulent sea sends wave after wave crashing upon the shore, and then retreats them in a gradient of black, brown, and tawny beige. Deposits of coffee-colored grime slathered across the gritty sand show where the waves have extended their dirty fingers. 

A loud blast from the smoghorn nearly sends me toppling over the railing, and I rush back to the house, collecting my startled self along the way. Behind me, the polluted waves continue to pound relentlessly against the shore.

Treasure Hunting

I may have a problem. 

I biked to the library today, a pilgrimage that has become quite the weekly ritual for me. Upon entering, I noticed a giant sign for a used book sale. Thinking it was just the usual shelf or two of old and yellowing retirees, I casually strolled into the upstairs room where the sale was being held. 

Clearly, I was wrong. 

I stepped foot into what I believe is the largest used book sale I have ever laid eyes on. I thought the old man at the UCI vendor fair had a pretty wide selection, but this spread definitely tops his. The attendant at the door told me that I could purchase a bag for two dollars, as he motioned toward a stack of brown paper grocery bags. While I was initially confused at what he meant, it suddenly dawned on me that the two dollar cost was not for the paper bag itself, but for the CONTENTS of the bag... 

...which pretty much means as many books as I can fit inside it. 

After immediately texting my fellow bookworm Rante about this marvelous opportunity, I dove straight into the stacks. Few things are more exhilarating than browsing spines and finding a title that catches your eye-- a book that was mentioned to me in class, a lesser-known story collection by one of my favorite authors, a recommendation, an intriguing title... 

It was also great to see so many children, sprawled out on the carpeted floor with their little noses buried into little paperbacks. I think that the older generation sometimes has this notion that the next generation is going to some sort of intellectually-depraved hell because of technology and the like... so seeing these children so engrossed in pages of adventure really affirmed my faith in the future of society. 

Rante and I left the book sale, each struggling to carry ripped paper bags brimming with hardbounds, paperbacks, and magazines... our minds simultaneously brimming with excitement. 

Thus begins a life of hermitage, as I shut myself in my room to read forever. 

My new Lamy

Meet my new toy !!! It's a Lamy Safari fountain pen with a thin calligraphy nib. 

I didn't have any paper on me when I first received it, so I did a few tests on the only writable surface I had readily available... I hope to brighten the days of whoever I may owe money to. 

photo courtesy of HXP

I hope this isn't illegal in any way. 

So far, I love it... it has such a different feel than the felt pens that I own. Felt pens, while great in the sense that they provide a consistent flow of ink, are lacking the subtle variations in color that make fountain penwork unique. 

Here are a few more tests I did after coming home. I realized that my lines are all over the place, and need to work on keeping letters and angles consistent. My favorite part of these samples are the two letter g's in the second one. 

Thank you HXP :) I'm glad I have someone to share my niche hobby with. 

[currently listening to: Emancipator- Safe in the Steep Cliffs]

Fern's Pen

“When I begin to fall for someone,” she said, “one of the first things I do is I write their first name.”

The brass tip of her calligraphy pen vanished into its companion inkpot, and emerged with a thin coating of liquid night sky. Excess ink was drained off against the glass walls of the reservoir, in slow and deliberate strokes.

The pen touched the paper like a small bird alighting upon a branch of white birch. Immediately upon contact a dot of ink began blossoming on the page, darkening with every millisecond that she held the pen’s nib at that particular spot. I watched, fascinated, as she drew the ink upwards, then down, then in careful but free-flowing flourishes.  A few words later, I vaguely recognized the opening lines of a poem or play we had studied once. Possibly last year, when Fern and I had shared a literature course, and when I had first noticed her unique character. She rarely spoke in class, but in the rare moments she did, she always found a way to confound the professor, while simultaneously tying the neurons of my own brain into daisy chains.

What a strange habit, I thought. My daisy-chained mind immediately wondered if she had ever written my name,  whether the mountains and valleys of my letters had ever danced across the cream-colored pages of that little black sketchbook. “How come?” I asked.

“Some girls fantasize about last names. They attach the surname of their desired to their own, and mull over how it sounds. They imagine themselves being addressed as such, and giggle, and other silly things.” Fern brushed aside a strand of strawberry-blonde hair that had fallen across her face, and I noticed her chipping nail polish.

 “I like to see how their first name unwinds on paper. I think about how that name fits their personality…how those vowel and consonant sounds match their traits.” She paused for a second and frowned, perhaps pondering how to best explain this to me… an ignorant, simple-minded boy.

“Gentle,” she wrote a lower-case o.

“Inquisitive…” a long-tailed y appeared on the page

“Assertive…” a tall letter t.

Fern paused for a moment. From the somewhat glazed look in her eyes, I knew that she was thinking about someone. A specific name, made up of specific letters, each carrying a specific definition that she had already determined. She dipped the pen back into the reservoir, and then I watched in slow-motion as the pen began making its gentle arc toward the paper. 

Suddenly, it was no longer a harmless finch...but a sharply taloned bird of prey honing in on my small, frantic mouse heart.

Lately, I've been really into calligraphy. 

1982

I went thrifting with my aunt yesterday :)

The last time I went thrifting was probably in last-minute desperation for an oddly specific costume piece or accessory (80's themed dinner party? murder mystery?), or at home in San Jose, where my mother frequents the grounds of the Capitol flea market.

Walking through the aisles reminded me how much I love thrifting...especially swap meets. Beyond the crowds, weird smells, and overpriced, broken junk, there are truly interesting things to be found... both tangible and otherwise.

While browsing aisles of run-down lawn equipment, one-dollar clothing piles, used tires, and once-loved plush animals, I spotted one vendor that was selling old books. The unemployed English major thrives on foraging such grounds, and it wasn't long before I was at a kneel in front of dilapidated cardboard boxes, digging through hardcovers and softcovers and books without covers.

Among fascinating titles that I brought home for myself (The Illustrated Encyclopedia of the Universe, The Gatefold Book of the World's Greatest Warplanes, This is Not a Book, and George Orwell's famous  dystopian novel 1984) were scattered a considerable myriad of outdated anthologies. A Guiness World Records volume from the early 90's. A collection featuring TIME magazine's greatest photos...from the year 2000. A bridal magazine that certainly dated itself with its cover- a voluminous, Farrah-haired blonde wearing a puff-sleeved gown. A Garden Grove High School yearbook- 1982.

On a whim, I decided to flip through the yearbook. The first page informed me that its previous owner was a girl named Jodie, and the following pages unfolded a surprising amount of detail on Jodie's life and persona, as well as life in the early 80's. A poll of the student body revealed that the most popular band of the year was Journey, and the most popular album was "Captured", released the previous year in 1981. Prom dresses were hideous, feathery, puff-sleeved creations. Photo montages featured faded denim, leather jackets, and orange turtlenecks. The handwritten notes reveal the excellent penmanship of a generation that grew up on manuscript, not on the computer keyboard.

Some things never change, though... the cheer captain was the same girl who won homecoming queen. There was a whole section of Nguyens. The marching band only got a single page spread in the entire yearbook.

I couldn't help but read through a few of the messages that her friends had left her. It was kind of odd, you get that sneaky-guilt feeling you only get when your friend leaves their email logged in on your computer, and you accidentally click on a message before realizing it's not your account. A lot of Jodie's friends had written about her sweet personality; one guy thanked her for always answering his questions in class, and another girl thanked her for curling her hair at an event. Another girl complimented her on her sense of humor, saying it was "super rad."

Upon realizing it, I flipped to the very back of the book and was glad to find the familiar index of names, organized by class and surname. Starting from the seniors, and then through the juniors, I finally found her name among the sophomores. It was listed that Jodie makes an appearance on two pages in the yearbook, so I memorized the two numbers and turned back through the yellowing pages. In the sophomore section, a black-and-white photo of a very friendly-looking young woman with glasses, fair skin, and a shoulder-length haircut looked back at me. I flipped to the second page, and smiled when I saw that I was looking at the ensemble portrait of the Garden Grove Marching Band and Color Guard.

I know I will likely never meet you, but in that moment, I felt like I did...and I like you, Jodie from 1982, I like you.


____________________

In other news... just for kicks and giggles... here are two of my favorite things I bought today :)

this fantastic hardbound for $2

adorable floral heels for $9

Rainmaker

"Hang out with the world, and you will gain wisdom." 

-Dave Gibbons

I'm not in Irvine often anymore, but today I chose to swing by and catch Sunday service. Today, Dave shared about the concept of the rainmaker, and the drought that comes before the rain.

It reminded me of a "rainmaker" that my mom made for me when I was little. My mom, the ever creative pioneer artist of cheap homemade toys (and this was BEFORE Pinterest and craft blogs !) fashioned a DIY rainstick one day out of an old wrapping paper tube. She poked some short nails (or brads, or something) into the sides of the cardboard, and filled it with beans. I remember being fascinated for hours.

SSSSSSSHHHHHHHHHhhhhhh.....

*flip*

SSSSSSSHHHHHHHHHhhhhhh.....

*flip*

SSSSSSSHHHHHHHHHhhhhhh.....

*repeat*

I'm pretty sure I still have it somewhere in the house :)

Swans

I had the impromptu opportunity to watch the sublime production of the classic Swan Lake by one of the world's most renowned companies, the St. Petersburg Mariinsky Ballet.

My friend Rante, an intern for a posh OC lifestyle magazine, was advertising an extra ticket he had, and I couldn't pass up the opportunity. Ballet is a genre of dance that inspires me because I've attempted it, and realized how difficult it really is... equal parts athleticism and grace is hard to manage.  Plus, this traveling production also featured live music by the full Mariinsky orchestra ! As a child who probably lost a lot of hearing ability to her dad blasting Tchaikovsky through elaborate vintage audio systems, the classical aspect was just another thing that drew me back to Irvine late on a Wednesday night.

I've never seen Swan Lake in its entirety, only pixelly youtube clips and vague references to the full ballet in Black Swan (which, though terrifying at parts, was also really beautiful). Now that I have, I feel like I have checked a major bullet point off my lifelong bucket list.

#n: Watch one of the most famous ballets, by one of the most famous ballet companies. ☑

One of the most beautiful scenes was when the prince first sees Odette, the swan queen, and is blown away by the way she moves. Her dance is clearly swanlike; the choreography transforms her slender arms into wings.  In another scene the prince breaks the wall by staring up into the ceiling above the audience, his eyes following an imaginary arc as the musicians hold an extended note. It doesn't take long for the audience to understand that his eyes are following a flock of swans, and that his hand is reaching out to her as she flies away.

Something else that really had me awestruck was the corps de ballet. I have never seen a production with such a large dancer body... the lake scene was stunning not only because of the set, the music, and the choreography, but also the sheer number of performers, entering the stage in perfectly synchronized rows.

The classic fairytale story, which was told through a brief synopsis in the program, was unfolded a million times over on stage. You know how they say "a picture is worth a thousand words"... well, a ballet is probably worth a grillion. Music and dance are two universal languages, and combined, the two have enough power to put someone near tears.

from the Segerstrom online album