the sourcerer: The things we do, continued.

Wednesday, May 11, 2011

The things we do, continued.

During this lull after the commercial season, before the other work starts...

I am spending hours doing this kind of thing:

- lying on my bed reading the pile of books accumulated next to it.

- watching raindrops on the pool.

- curing olives from my friends' very own tree - Missions from Mowbray.

- drinking coffee at The Power & The Glory.

- playing records.

- getting to know my new camera.

- being kissed silly.

And this morning I spared a wonder: who shops at Louis Vuitton?

Slingback mules and patent peep toes. ZAR 7 400 a pair
(and yes - those are little golden padlocks on the back)

Bowling bag. ZAR 12 900

7 comments:

ckzero said...: silly lily ;-); May 11, 2011 at 1:18 PM
the sourcerer said...: Plau, Mecklenburg-Vorpommern ? ?; May 11, 2011 at 2:57 PM
Marie said...: We must know who is kissing you. Pictures, bio, stats.; May 11, 2011 at 7:05 PM
the sourcerer said...: :-); May 11, 2011 at 9:44 PM
tanjawilmot said...: I agree with Marie. We must know. The rest is detail. Trifles and peccadilloes. Mere bits of fluff. Who is kissing tha Tart and indeed who is the Tart kissing? Now this is the stuff that award winning blog posts are made of. Award winning, I'm telling you.
x; May 17, 2011 at 6:54 PM
Mista Fahrenheit said...: Is it easy to cure olives? Can you give a rough outline please. I am thinking of picking my neighbours olives which are just falling off their trees.
And big foodie tip: the chocolate mousse at Casa Labia (you will thank Allah for being alive). You may also enjoy the folly (you'll know what I mean when you go there). Well thought out combination of Italian cusine and Cape ingredients.; May 19, 2011 at 10:51 AM
the sourcerer said...: Mista F:
'tis easy as pie.
I'll mail you the recipe.
and been meaning to go to C Labia -
thanks for the incentive!!; May 19, 2011 at 1:38 PM

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You could tend a garden at night, only at night, pouring dark water onto leaves, and into the earth, like pouring midnight onto midnight. You could hold your soil-stained hands up to the moon. The stars would gleam on the bottom of the shovel. It would smell the same as a daytime garden - it would smell green, violet, red, white. But come back, in daylight. Come back, to see the colours without closing your eyes.
- Sean Michaels. Accompaniment to the song "Immune" by LOW. Said the Gramophone

Nothing is original. Steal from anywhere that resonates with inspiration or fuels your imagination. Devour old films, new films, music, books, paintings, photographs, poems, dreams, random conversations, architecture, bridges, street signs, trees, clouds, bodies of water, light and shadows. Select only things to steal from that speak directly to your soul. If you do this, your work (and theft) will be authentic. Authenticity is invaluable; originality is non-existent. And don't bother concealing your thievery - celebrate it if you feel like it. In any case, always remember what Jean-Luc Godard said: "It's not where you take things from - it's where you take them to."
Jim Jarmusch (1953- )

You got very hungry when you did not eat enough in Paris because all the bakery shops had such good things in the windows and people ate outside at tables on the sidewalk so that you saw and smelled the food. When you had given up journalism and were writing nothing that anyone in America would buy, explaining at home that you were lunching out with someone, the best place to go was the Luxembourg gardens where you smelled and saw nothing to eat all the way from the Place de l'Observatoire to the rue de Vaugirard. There you could always go into the Luxembourg museum and all the paintings were sharpened and clearer and more beautiful if you were belly-empty, hollow-hungry. I learned to understand Cézanne much better and to see truly how he made landscapes when I was hungry. I used to wonder if he were hungry too when he painted; but I thought possibly it was only that he had forgotten to eat. It was one of those unsound but illuminating thoughts you have when you have been sleepless or hungry. Later I thought that Cézanne was probably hungry in a different way.
Ernest Hemingway (1899-1961) - from A Moveable Feast.