wishlist
1. cupcakes
2. a microscope
3. a telescope
4. a camera obscura
5. a cabinet of inks
6. a beehive
7. a roomful of clocks
8. a memory theatre
9. a set of epiphanies
10. painting lessons
11. a shadow lantern
12. a holga
13. an enormous umbrella
14. a pet tiger
strange, in this picture of my father an i, must be 1968, i only just noticed that the tree isn't decorated. maybe we were about to trim it when the picture was taken, presumably by my mother, who would be jumping ship in a matter of months.
in "the grand hotels," a short story inspired by the works of joseph cornell, robert coover wrote: "childhood is the source and model of all architecture." that line struck me especially, mostly because i have also believed it for some time. this photograph tells me something about why i am hesitant to put holes in the wall in order to hang things up, why it's taken me so long to get down the basics of inhabiting a space. why i am attracted to the lightest objects, why i'm never dressed warmly enough. why i love things that fold up, and words so weighty they seem to almost stand in for the real thing. words like
curator, frock, grandeur, trapeze.
bellhop, scaffold, winter, and shy.
