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Alice was born this past Thursday, May 26th, 2011. Duda, Gio and I made our very first visit the following day, before she was 24 hours old. I meant to post photos chronologically but I simply couldn’t wait to share this magical smile (captured early this afternoon.)
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Those who know me, know this: Color is scarce in my wardrobe. There’s a red item here, a blue one there, the one pink dress some people wish I’d wear more often… ;) and a whole LOT of black and gray. I’ve never really been into patterns or colors, always gravitating towards what was most neutral, least attention-grabbing.
Then one day in the early 90’s I walked into a clothing store on 34th street and my browsing took an unexpected turn. To this day, I don’t know what came over me but I laid eyes on a coat of many colors (as someone I went to high school with, described it) and I quite simply fell in love. With a coat. Of many colors.
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This post is the creative work of Iris Watts Hirideyo and is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 License.
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This post is the creative work of Iris Watts Hirideyo and is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 License.
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Bem vinda ao mundo, Alicinha! E não, você não vai precisar esperar um ano prá apagar a sua primeira velinha! :D
This post is the creative work of Iris Watts Hirideyo and is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 License.
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This post is the creative work of Iris Watts Hirideyo and is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 License.
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Photo taken by Marina on May 19th, 2011.
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Julie: …Marie? Pourquoi vous pleurez?
Marie: Parce que vous ne pleurez pas…
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Diana is no one special. Diana is just another fish in the sea. A near nameless character in a movie with plenty of… well, nine fish to fry.
Nine women at the center of nine lives the movie sets out to catch a glimpse of, sketch and bring some understanding to in fifteen minutes or under.
Nine Lives shares a title with the fictional short story collection Nine Lives (by fictional Paul Varjak in Breakfast at Tiffany’s.) Also brings to mind J.D. Salinger’s Nine Stories, if only for the numerical commonality and as a result Lisa Loeb’s band named after the Salinger collection. In fact, there’s plenty of room for digression in Rodrigo Garcia’s Nine Lives. There’s the title that recalls other titles. There are the recurring faces of Holly Hunter, Amy Brenneman, Glenn Close and Kathy Baker, all Garcia’s regulars. There’s the recurring focus on the female sensibility and its concerns. There are the cents I add with my own strong tendencies towards digression. My sudden realization-turned-theory, for instance, that writing good film roles for women and writing women well are two very different enterprises in that they may amount to the same end product (an enthralling woman/character/performance) just as often as they may not. I can’t help but compare Woody Allen and all those deserved and undeserved Academy Awards won by his leading and supporting actresses to Rodrigo Garcia and how he’s managed to hook me (no pun intended) FOR LIFE one woman at a time. (Elizabeth Joyce of Mother and Child is next in line for an in-depth post.)
[Click on the thumbnail for a larger view]
Digressions aside, I’m here for Diana. Diana, the love child of Rodrigo Garcia’s writing and Robin Wright’s… well… knack.
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Agniezka Holland allows us a brief moment before her final fade out in which to see her Catherine Sloper (Jennifer Jason Leigh) for what she has become - someone who can be trusted to uphold her dignity, to survive scathed but on her feet. Someone who can extract contentment, even enjoyment from a humble lot. Ward off resentment and sustain peace of mind. Someone who can be trusted to suffice and go on.
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This post is the creative work of Iris Watts Hirideyo and is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 License.
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Expression of the day makes its way to my blog after an inspiring shot of the moon last night and a literally translated expression to match.
For the gang from work…
This post is the creative work of Iris Watts Hirideyo and is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 License.
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Taken less than 5 minutes ago…
)I hadn’t realized I missed silhouettes until I found one today…
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At one point towards the end of Blue Valentine, during a meet-the-family dinner scene appropriately enough, amidst so much inadvertent pointing out of potentially irreconcilable differences, it suddenly hit me like a ton of bricks:
DEAN IS LLOYD DOBLER!
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At the core of my reaction to April Wheeler (as brought to life by the force of nature that is Kate Winslet) were the words: I WANTED IN. They spoke volumes. They rattled me. They portrayed her as emotionally restless, circumstantially helpless, aimless and resigned.
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Just what I wanted… :D
Love you too, Marinovski!
This post is the creative work of Iris Watts Hirideyo and is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 License.
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Our ability to measure and apportion time affords an almost endless source of comfort.
“Synchronize watches at oh six hundred,” says the infantry captain, and each of his huddled lieutenants finds a respite from fear in the act of bringing two tiny pointers into jeweled alignment while tons of heavy artillery go fluttering overhead: the prosaic, civilian-looking dial of the watch has restored, however briefly, an illusion of personal control. Good, it counsels, looking tidily up from the hairs and veins of each terribly vulnerable wrist; fine: so far, everything’s happening right on time.
“I’m afraid I’m booked solid through the end of the month,” says the executive, voluptuously nestling the phone at his cheek as he thumbs the leaves of his appointment calendar, and his mouth and eyes at that moment betray a sense of deep insecurity. The crisp, plentiful, day-sized pages before him prove that nothing unforseen [sic], no calamity of chance or fate can overtake him between now and the end of the month. Ruin and pestilence have been held at bay, and death itself will have to wait; he is booked solid.
“Oh, let me see now,” says the ancient man, tilting his withered head to wince and blink at the sun in bewildered reminiscence, “my first wife passed away in the spring of —” and for a moment he is touched with terror. The spring of what? Past? Future? What is any spring but a mindless rearrangemet of cells in the crust of the spinning earth as it floats in endless circuit of its sun? What is the sun itself but a billion insensible stars forever going nowhere into nothingness? Infinity! But soon the merciful valves and switches of his brain begin to do their tired work, and “The spring of Nineteen-Ought-Six,” he is able to say. “Or no, wait —” and his blood runs cold again as the galaxies revolve. “Wait! Nineteen-Ought-Four.” Now he is sure of it, and a restorative flood of well-being brings his hand involuntarily up to slap his thigh in satisfaction. He may have forgotten the shape of his first wife’s smile and the sound of her voice in tears, but by imposing a set of numerals on her death he has imposed coherence on his own life, and on life itself. Now all the other years can fall obediently into place, each with its orderly contribution to the whole. Nineteen-Ten, Nineteen-Twenty — Why, of course he remembers! Nineteen-Thirty, Nineteen-Forty, right on up to the well-deserved peace of his present and on into the gentle promise of the future. The earth can safely resume its benevolent stillness — Smell that new grass! — and it’s the same grand old sun that has hung there smiling on him all these years. “Yes sir,” he can say with authority, “Nineteen-Ought-Four,” and the stars tonight will please him as tokens of his ultimate heavenly rest. He has brought order of chaos.
(Revolutionary Road)
This post is the creative work of Iris Watts Hirideyo and is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 License.
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Ô, saudade…
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