|in my life photo project 2010|
|the orphans' feast...|
|...as we liked it...in 2001...|
Alexandra Silber: - I THINK YOU ROCK.
Nancy Opel: - mwah. I want to take your picture.
Alexandra Silber: - 1. let's! although I'm not very photogenic 2. can we do a few shots... in a canoe . . . ? 3. mwah back
Nancy Opel: -- doing a few shots in a canoe sounds potentially dangerous, with or without a camera....;)
Alexandra Silber: ...but what if i made it my profile pic? (Enticing?) -- or wait! would you de-friend me?! ;)
Alexandra Silber: - PS) tequila shots in the canoe, then photos OF the canoe after... no danger. Oh no. Only good times. Very very good times.
Nancy Opel: - I took Miss Baldwin's pic that she used as her profile pic for quite some time, I'm proud to say...took it the day we left for London. And disenfriendment is an unlikely possibility...
Nancy Opel: - but will the canoe be ON WATER?...because it does sound like fun.
Alexandra Silber: - let's DO it Opel. You are on! Then we can go to Shake Shack after....
Nancy Opel: - SHAKE SHAAAAAAAAAAAACK......the magic words. MY magic words.
Alexandra Silber: - Oh yes the canoe WILL be on the water.
Alexandra Silber: - PS) this thread is making my day. x
Nancy Opel: - Yeah, me too.
|"Now the Lord is that Spirit: and where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is liberty."|
At the fall of the cities:Suddenly I was filled with a feeling-- a wave of desire to give voice to those awkward silences, to speak on behalf of a place whose roar has been reduced to a whisper, but has soul nonetheless.
Why did we inhabit them?
"On August 17, 1999, This book was read by Alexandra 'Al' (she is a wonderful girl) to Jay (an ignorant boy) and she and it changed his life."
"Dear Al, On the occasion of the lovely outing, one of my favorite essay collections. In particular 'Unpacking my Library' is one of the great love letters to books as emotionally endowed objects that I know. Love G."Tiger at the Gates by Jean Giradoux
"My lovely Al,
Idolatry has always been funny to me. Idolatry in myself is the heartiest of all. This play is funny to me because I see myself in it. I see our best friends and most admired people in it. All of these make it a gem that I hope you'll value too. Giradoux. How can you go wrong? Truth. Love. Truth of not-love. All these, sparklingly present in the pages ahead. I think of you too when I read this. Thank you for the smiles and smirks you'll have turning the pages. I can see them. They make me happy. Mostly because they're shared. Celebrate love. Covet humor. Live truth. And please, enjoy this addition to your library and soul.
Wrapped in love,
"To Alexandra with all my profound love and affection, Vincente"
"To Alexandra, Nice fifth position.
With all my love,
"To Alexandra, may the little white bird always fly home to you , and nestle you under its wing. Everything, B"
"Happy Birthday Al! Today we celebrate your 18 years of LIFE! You have given us such joy, thank you. .. Love, 'Jom' & 'Jad'"
"To my love, In memory of a beautiful Spring morning, and a secret rendezvous by the lake. Yours, JNF"
"To Alex on her very important birthday July 3, 1998! Constantin Stanislavsky founded the Moscow Arts Theatre in 1898-- one of his favorite pupils was Ricahrd Boleslavsky; this man came to the U.S (with Michael Chekhov, Maria Ouspenskaya, and Stanislavsky himself) in the 1930's and the Moscow Art Theatre played a series of plays in New York. They stayed on and started 'school' to teach the Russian philosophy of acting, amount their students was Valentine Windt who became professor of theatre at University of Michigan and who taught acting classes and directed shows. Lucy Chase and I studied with him for many years. This book was one of our text books and a favorite! So we are direct philosophical descendants of Stanislavsky and Boleslavsky! And you, my dear, are following right in the line of descent.
LC and JB Stephenson"
"To Al Silber-- the writer, from L: her common reader"
"Alexandra, my truest of lovers... Love, as described by Sophocles is like the ice held fast in the fist of a child. I will hold on to you forever, and if you melt, I can drink a case of you and still be on my feet. Always, M"
"To Alexandra. Whose talent is matched only by her warmth and hunger for truth. May you stay forever young. N"
"Memory's images, once they are fixed in words, are erased," Polo said. "Perhaps I am afraid of losing Venice all at once, if I speak of it. Or perhaps, speaking of other cities, I have already lost it, little by little."
"...what he sought was always something lying ahead, and even if it was a matter of the past it was a past that changed gradually as he advanced on his journey, because the traveler's past changes according to the route he has followed: not the immediate past, that is, to which each day that goes by adds a day, but the more remote past. Arriving at each new city the traveler finds again a past of his that he did not know he had: the foreignness of what you no longer are or no longer possess lies in waiting for you in foreign, not-yet-possessed places."-- Italo Calvino
|Click to enlarge - [photo ©michelle & ivan hoo]|
"...This was a longing she had never permitted herself to acknowledge.
She faced it now. She thought: If emotion is one's response to the things the world has to offer, if she loved the rails, the building, and more: if she loved her love for them-there was still one response, the greatest, that she had missed.
She thought: To find a feeling that would hold, as their sum, as their final expression, the purpose of all the things she loved on earth... To find a consciousness like her own, who would be the meaning of her world, as she would be of his... No, not Francisco d'Anconia, not Hank Rearden, not any man she had ever met or admired... A man who existed only in her knowledge of her capacity for an emotion she had never felt, but would have given her life to experience...
She twisted herself in a slow, faint movement, her breasts pressed to the desk; she felt the longing in her muscles, in the nerves of her body.
Is that what you want? Is it as simple as that?-she thought, but knew that it was not simple. There was some unbreakable link between her love for her work and the desire of her body; as if one gave her the right to the other, the right and the meaning; as if one were the completion of the other-and the desire would never be satisfied, except by a being of equal greatness.
Her face pressed to her arm, she moved her head, shaking it slowly in negation. She would never find it. Her own thought of what life could be like, was all she would ever have of the world she had wanted. Only the thought of it-and a few rare moments, like a few lights reflected from it on her way-to know, to hold, to follow to the end..."
|Jill as Laura|
|Al as Laura|
|Tamara de Lempicka|
“There is still one of which you never speak.”
Marco Polo bowed his head.
“Venice,” the Khan said.
Marco smiled. “What else do you believe I have been talking to you about?”
The emperor did not turn a hair. “And yet I have never heard you mention that name.”
And Polo said: “Every time I describe a city I am saying something about Venice.”