It’s gotten very cold here — it’s going to be 61 degrees in SF today. A bit warmer here across the bay but not much. Well, it’s 63 degrees here in my house.

M and I went in to the city yesterday to see the Picasso exhibit. It was crowded, which was not entirely pleasant, but interesting. It was an exhibit of things which he kept and never sold — so things that had special meaning to him. Maybe it was just the cast of the audio tape (which I can never resist), but I think it was sort of the cast of the show itself, which started off with a quote that keeping a sketchbook, or by implication a collection of works done over the course of a life, he was also keeping a diary. So one really was encouraged to consider the life as it was revealed in the art. There was another quote (by Picasso) about how unpleasant it must have been for women to realize through his painting that they had been supplanted. Anyway, one of the paintings I liked best was a portrait of his son Paul dressed as a harlequin. But it also made us think about life and careers. In what medium is my life documented? Books read? Laundry folded? Meals cooked? Kind of —

I think we’re going back to another museum today to see a Roman mosaic and some Flemish landscapes. (Did Flemish landscape painters leave the story of their lives in their paintings, too? I’ll bet they did, and that makes me think of Kaspar David Friedrich, who certainly did mean to imply more than just landscapes in landscapes.)


Certainly parts of Ian Frazier’s life is documented in his Travels in Siberia, but interestingly enough, things are also not — although I am enjoying it immensely.

Anyway — time to take a shower and put on something a bit warmer. This really is a sign of summer around here, and also a sign that it’s time to take ourselves off to warmer climes. And we will —


One thought on “Cold

  1. In what medium is my life documented is an easier question for a blogger than for the rest of the mere mortals!
    One time when our kids were about ten, a friend and I traded emails in which we attempted to write down every single thing we’d done that day. It was an almost Mrs. Dalloway-length list.

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