tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-71229299016505295202024-02-18T21:54:26.781-05:00Elephant HouseAn online journal about things I do and see and read.Claudia Carlsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14790701472190156784noreply@blogger.comBlogger314125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7122929901650529520.post-74307564778910034222015-03-02T10:14:00.001-05:002015-03-02T10:14:33.454-05:00<span style="line-height: 1.38;">Just got two sonnets published in the varied, lively, and well edited, by Tom Fink, journal <i>The Marsh Hawk Review. </i>Many Marsh Hawk poets here.</span><br />
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Claudia Carlsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14790701472190156784noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7122929901650529520.post-48265479381536620122015-02-28T12:34:00.001-05:002015-02-28T12:35:18.881-05:0050 Days of Chocolate: 15<span style="color: #666666; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15px;">The large, crunchy yet gooiest, yummiest chocolate chip chunk cookie I've had in years, was brought to me by Caitlin Allen as we had an</span><span class="text_exposed_show" style="color: #666666; display: inline; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15px;">other long wait at Memorial Sloan Kettering. The outer cookie was buttery crisp and it is a wonder how it can hold so much dark, and I presume milk, chips of chocolate. Sweet but not too sweet, and all melted choco goodness. Ah... She bought them from Culture Expresso, an expresso bar on 72 W. 38th Street.<br />I was so happy to see Cait, cuddle, and devour the cookie, that later, while in the chemo suite, a man and wife came up to us. He said, "If I had had a camera, I'd have had a Pulitzer Prize winning shot of the two of you, so much love!" I told him I was very lucky in both my daughters. "You have another one like this!?'" he exclaimed. "Different and just as delicious," I said. "What a lucky woman you are. And I agreed.</span><br />
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Claudia Carlsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14790701472190156784noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7122929901650529520.post-78459979672604679522015-02-22T21:18:00.002-05:002015-02-22T21:19:55.175-05:00Writing a sonnet a day keeps the mediocrity awayNo really, I'm not saying my sonnets are good, but the practice of writing in form: 14 lines of rhymed iambic pentameter; has been teaching me to better manipulate language to express a notion. I'm getting better at not creating syntax contorted sentences to achieve rhymes. I'm realizing there's a multitude of ways to say nearly the same thing, huge strength of English with its plethora of words. I'm getting more limber and friends tell me the writing has gotten better. I'm so pleased I finally attempted something I always thought was too hard ! The practice is the process.Claudia Carlsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14790701472190156784noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7122929901650529520.post-79428863220682432352015-02-22T21:01:00.001-05:002015-02-26T08:59:10.609-05:0050 Days of Chocolate so far..<div style="color: #141923; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">50 days of chocolate: 14</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">This box of delectable was delivered Saturday night, late, to our door right off the truck. Exclusive handmade 5ive-o chocolates by Meghan Allynn Johnson. The Matcha Mint was the best mint filled truffle we've ever had, creamy, smooth, with an under taste of tea. The Blackberry with 60 percent filling was good, fresh, not too sweet, but not out of orbit remarkable. Cinnamon + Cayenne had a real bite and heat in an incredibly rich ganache with a hint of cinnamon, and I adored the Liquid Caramel Dome, caramel is soft, toasty sweet, melts in mouth, and as it goes the dark choco exterior becomes ascendant. Jim and I thank you Lenny Steinbach! An A+</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">50 days of chocolate: 13</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">A sip of Makers Mark bourbon, let its numbness fade to aromatic sizzle on the tongue and let one of the divine French Broad chocolates melt on that tongue and you will say it is a sweet valentine. Nadine Charlsen sent us these lovely "hand crafted" treats from Ashville, NC, and we thank her. Just had the hazelnut crunch, with a creamy milk chocolate filling and little chunks of hazelnuts. Enrolled in a delicious dark. Mmmmmm.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">50 days of Chocolate: 12</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Thanks to Rob Rosenthal, I had a tasting of two dark chocolates with home team Jim and visiting Natalie. We're eating Endangered Species 72% and 88% dark. Nat preferred the 88, I liked both, Jim hated the 88 saying it was like Bakers, yuck. Nat loves the little cocoa nibs. She suggested we try the extra dark with bourbon, a treat she and Jackson love. Not having any bourbon,we each got a shot of scotch. Jim changed his tune. I love the rich smooth complex flavor of these dark pure squares but for quick snacking the sweeter one.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Wonderful artisanal chocolates tend to go stale within a month. Me and my homie minions cannot keep up with the taste testing lab samples (in the home larder of the cool north facing window in my bedroom). I hit upon the happy and obvious solution of sharing them with my work pals. It is amazing how quickly a box of goodies empties in the canteen. Clearly the fact that AFMDA just earned the highest rating, 4 STARS!!!!, at Charity Navigator is making some of us smile, but I'd like to think the dark chocolate high is also lifting spirits.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">50 days of chocolate: 11</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">This morning, as I got my breakfast 2 nibble (I'm part hobbit, I like a second breakfast) from Pret, the cashier asked me if I would like a mocha. It took me awhile to realize she was offering me a free choco-infused coffee that had not been picked up. I accepted it and felt like a chosen person.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">The coffee was pleasant, "not too much" as advertised on the cup, and had a faint chocolaty under taste. It makes me think I should consider other mocha makers, more specifically, Caitlin Allen, barista extraordinaire at the Queens Kickshaw.<br />
I also got chosen today in another, deeply moving, way. My name was thrown in a hat (at CancerCare) and I was picked to get a gift of theatre tickets, money for dinner, and a bag of chocolate goodies; all provided by a woman who used to love going to cultural events with her sister. This much missed sister led to a lovely gift for people like me. Best of all she expanded it to include both my daughters. So we are off to see Avenue Q tonight.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">50 Days of Chocolate: 10</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I have to be the most chocolate gifted person on the Upper West Side. Thanks to my friend Margo Fox, a lovely box of artisan chocolates arrived in the mail from Life by Chocolate. Jim got a rather long call this morning from his producer as I was jonesing for coffee, so I opened the brown box with its pale green stripes and ribbon, and very fetching chocolate covered goodies. I tried a mint filled piece and wasn't wowed...then I grabbed a bumpy one, that looked a bit like a falafel ball, and it turned out to be coated in cinnamon, maybe a dash of pepper, and crunchy raw sugar over the mother geode filling of ganash. The ganash was rather like icing but thicker and made of high quality ingredients. With Caitlin, Jim, and Austin, I tried the cherry filled chocolate cordial, and while appreciating the refusal to be too sweet, felt it was a tad too sour and needed a bit more juice. We also missed having an identifying list of the individual flavors. Thank you Margo, exploration to continue. A combined total of B- so far from a small sampling.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">50 Days of Chocolate: 9</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">A box arrived at my door, a gift from Patrick Delaney. He figured he would add to my chocolate adventures with a "Collection of Vosges Dark Chocolate 65% Cacao Truffles." So I invited him over to dinner for an in depth taste testing on the dining room table portion of the home lab. Also lending their culinary attention were Caitlin Allen and James Racheff. The dark purple and gold packaging was enticing. Once we opened the box, a high quality scent of primo dark poured out. I cut the dainty truffles into quarters. Here are the results:<br />
Budapest, sweet Hungarian paprika. It freaked Jim out to mix paprika with chocolate. I didn't mind the combo since the base chocolate was excellent. But I agreed with Patrick the spice left a bitter aftertaste unbecoming to the name truffle.<br />
Chef Pascal, kirsch & dried Michigan cherry. I didn't get a piece with enough cherry, Jim and Caitlin did and liked it.<br />
Oaxaca, guajillo & pasilla chillies & organic pumpkin seeds. Surprisingly tasty, the pumpkin and heat melting into chocolatey surrender.<br />
Tlan Nacu, Mexican vanilla bean. Absolute favorite, practically orgasmic. The vanilla was fresh and not too sweet. A perfect blend.<br />
I passed on the Polline di Finocchio, wild Tuscan fennel pollen & floral anise, but Caitlin and Patrick felt it was a delightful combo, especially since one doesn't think of liquorish and chocolate being a great meet up. Caitlin mentioned it really was floral.<br />
We all agreed the 65% shell was utterly perfect, smooth and not bitter.<br />
One won't necessarily love all the flavors, but it is such fun to try them. Overall a big A to A+ depending on your tastes! Thank you Patrick!</span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">50 Days of Chocolate: 8</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">My brother Anders bought me this delightful bittersweet chocolate covered marzipan bar made by Niederegger of Lubeck, Germany. I brought it to the taste testing lab of my couch during reruns of Big Bang Theory. The filling is the freshest I've ever had, not too sweet, finely ground, and proves to me most marzipan treats I've had over the years were a crude sad sugary cement. The shell is great, but if I could change one thing, the shell would be thicker and give a more chocolaty shout back to the nutty almondy insides. This is an...A+ </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I shared the last third with my husband and he concurs with the rating.</span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">50 Days of Chocolate: 6</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Sometimes you gotta try something healthy. I can really taste the banana, which is fine, and I appreciate the freedom from gluten. Fresh & Co. did a great job with a dark chocolate bitter purity...balanced by the cashews...but, sigh, one misses milk fats and that brain addicting sugar. The bar is somewhat soft and lacks a satisfying chew. This one is a C+</span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">50 Days of Chocolate: 5</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I just ate a talenti Double Dark Chocolate gelato pop. And it was goooooood. The outer dark chocolate "enrobing" shell was crisp, crackly, crunchy and not too sweet. Perfect. The dark chocolate gelato filling was nice, a smidge on the salty side, but not amazing. Maybe there wasn't enough differentiation in flavor from shell to filling. I know vanilla provides the contrast this treat needs. I give this an A-</span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">50 days of Chocolate: 4</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">While wandering Chelsea Market with my foodie brother he noticed an enticing glass bon bon case and as soon as I saw it held Leonides Belgium imported goodies, I was set. My server, Emily, was great in helping me pick out dark chocolate truffles and more. I told her about the fifty days. Why are you doing that? I said the grim grayish days of winter required the brightening of chocolates. She was so behind my sentiment she gave me a free square of pure dark!</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">The last time I had devoured this brand was in Brittany, during an odd but memorable barge trip. I'd gotten a small box and the fresh amazing truffles had left me with a feeling I'd found manna from the gods.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Tonight I had 3 truffles, hazelnut, champagne, and ganache filled. They were good. But, alas, the magic of being in France and utterly fresh compared to slightly less fresh and on my couch on the Upper West Side took them from amazing to very good. Not legendary. Not revolutionary. About as good as the treats from my neighborhood place, Mondells. Were they better abroad? Hard to say. I am going to call this Tourist Effect. Grade, B.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">50 Days of Chocolate: 2</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">My delightful loving brother Anders and my loving divine sister Christina visited me this last week with their spouses and kids and cheer. I had an amazing time and feel much loved. Christi left first so yesterday I went on a food oriented trip to Chelsea with Anders, wife Lyn, and their kids Max, Hayden & Owen. It takes out of towners to introduce me to things like the Doughnut Plant on 220 W. 23rd (btwn. 7th and 8th Aves.) and the overwhelmingly crowded Chelsea Market down on West 15th St. and 9th Ave. (More about what I got there later today!)<br />
I highly recommend Doughnut Plant for fun decor, a wall full of doughnut pillows, a bench with more doughnuts illustrated in lucite, a fanciful if expensive selection of treats, and a delightful rich latte. I got the chocolate blackout cake doughnut and it was a chocolate layer cake somehow contained in an innertube shape, complete with frosting and filling. It was good...a B, but the creme brûlée and pistachio were my favorites of the ones I sampled with my relatives.<br />
I need to go back and try some of the others. But no strong urge to get another triple chocolate doughnut. And alas, they only carry the marzipan ones on holidays, poor Anders. Although the pistachio was somehow ringing in harmony.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">50 Days of Chocolate: 1</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">On the advice of my family, including Dr. Lyn Yasumura, I am officially starting my 50 days of chocolate. Today's tastings involved a Numi organic pu-erh tea (a gift from Cousin Becca) and big marble sized truffles from Harry & David (a gift from my parents). The tea had a light evanescence of chocolate over a solid black tea flavor with undertones of vanilla, cinnamon, and other spices. For a chocolate addict like myself, pleasant but missing the oomph. The truffle has a perfectly nice exterior of dark chocolate but the filling was harder to categorize, it took awhile to realize it was attempting cappuccino. It was a bit too sweet and bland. Overall the Harry & David cappuccino dark chocolate truffle was a C+, easy enough to eat but even easier to forget. The Numi tea was a B, nice for the nose but left my chocolate belly yearning for the real thing.</span></div>
Claudia Carlsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14790701472190156784noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7122929901650529520.post-91797141152719490792014-09-04T01:54:00.003-04:002014-09-04T02:03:10.958-04:00Essay into poem or poem into essay? Or try it as flash fiction...This weekend I wrote an essay about a lavender labyrinth; I feel the writing was good but I still wonder if it would make a better poem. This kind of cross-genre hopping helps me figure out what is the most essential way to tell something. If I try it as a flash fiction, a poem, or short story and it doesn't feel more deeply itself, then the first form is probably the right one. But the exercise of writing from another angle reveals more of what can be said.<br />
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Here it is as an essay, poem to come soon:<br />
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<div>
<b>The Lavender Labyrinth Named Laverinth, on My Ex Husbands Farm</b></div>
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The
180 small plants are finishing their first year after a hard winter.
The lavender, or more exactly the Lavandin Phenomenal hybrid <i>(Lavandula x intermedia 'Phenomenal')</i>
are now the size of cabbages, but soft and prickly as fir needles. In a
couple of years they should reach above my knees. They flowered earlier
in the summer. The silvery green leaves and stems release a gentle
floral and bitter camphor scent when I rub them with my finger. I
remember the same aroma rising from my grandmothers dresser drawers
where velvet gloves, buttressed girdles, yellowing handkerchiefs, and
partial dentures rested in honorable rows. My husband Jim and I follow
the path of clover through four quadrants in eight rings; our feet the
beating rhythm that speeds the crickets and briefly flattens the white
and purple clover blossoms. This is no maze where all but one path dead
ends, too grim for contemplation, this is one path to the center of all
things, under a shifting sky of cloud and early September light. </div>
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The
labyrinth is next to a quiet country road. As we turn the bends, our
elemental spirit, the dog Sadie, at first follows on the tarp covered
curves, where small bushes of lavender poke out of diamond cuts. She
takes off and wants to cross the street to investigate the neighbors
horses, and we call her back. She bounds, the size of a barn cat, long
body leaping on short legs. She finds a musky spot between lavender and
clover, and rolls in it, her black and tan limbs upside down dancing the
joy of being. </div>
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We
talk and pace, taking photos, watching the sunlight and clouds
alternately illuminate and cloak fields and barns, while our hosts bend
and weed the 2,908 lavender plants (Lavendin Grosso, with less floral
scent and a higher oil yield) in the fields on the hill behind their
stone farmhouse. Once the plants mature, this will be the largest or
second largest lavender farm in New York State. Dave, Diane, and our
daughter Natalie tend the straight lines with mowers, scissors, and
gloved hands. </div>
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<br /></div>
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What
should I contemplate in this curving artery of plants? My life plan no
longer numbers in decades...I may have several years, or months, but the
hope of a cure, or stasis, keeps me living less elegiacally. I embrace
Dianne's wish I take a contemplative walk. I can accept there is this
day, this turn on the path, this scent of evaporating dew released from
leaf and earth. The air tastes fresh and the view is clear. My loving
companion is just behind me. Our shoes and pant cuffs grow damp. The dog
sniffs her journey. The crickets declare, "here now, here now," to lure
a mate before the frost. They don't know this is their one season,
they're hardwired to fiddle their desire. The sun heats my neck and
shade cools it. Around and around, I begin to hear folk songs I once
listened to on vinyl records. The Celtic music we play when we're
feeling romantic. And around. I think of <i>The Secret Garden,</i> a novel that
made a garden one of the main characters and made me want both children
and roses to thrive. I hope to see this labyrinth grow to its full
strength, just as I hope the Allen's make a success of their livelihoods
here in the Adirondacks. I want my grandchildren to run or crawl
through this clover, even if I don't get to greet them at the end or
lead them in at the beginning. It may seem impossible I am friends with
my ex and his wife, we defy convention. They are so better suited to
each other than we were. Me a farmer? Never. My husband, my Jim, is in
synch with me. We claim membership in the artist class, bohemians, or as
my grandmother said, lives of genteel poverty. I have no regrets, Dave
and I raised daughters who have become admirable women. We have good
partnerships. Natalie and Caitlin will walk these pathways alone or with
their loves. The same sun will warm their arms and ears. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div>
Whatever
makes the clover spring back from footsteps is strong in me. My
fingernails are tree rings showing bands for each round of chemo. Each
time I must recover strength, appetite, sleep, laughter, and a desire to
walk, write, draw, and take photos. Each time I must travel this path
and recenter myself. Leave regret at the entry, not worry about what
waits in the future, feel my weight shift from foot to foot, breathe in
and out, until end of the path appears. </div>
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<br /></div>
This
labyrinth is a shifting vista from the plants and insects at my feet to
the 360 degree view. Staying aware of the present moment, with my
senses, takes practice. I am so used to tuning out conversations and
sense distractions around me. I sink into the thin attachments of
friendship in social media, exist in the chaotic replay of music
fragments and to do lists, automatic analysis of type kerning,
composition, and color (the side effect of being a graphic designer),
rerun old hurts or difficult conversations, and replay scenes from
miniseries and novels; that is my conscious mind. I am calmer and become
a better writer when I live in the heartbeat of time. All the senses
flow through the labyrinth. It can travel with me, if I need to relax. I
can recall the cricket song, sun heating my skin, sharp sweet scent, an
echo of clambering into the private spaces within hedges as a girl,
small wind cooling my scalp, the crunch and rustle of my man and dog
pacing behind or ahead of me, seeing the barn, horse, road, old
schoolhouse filled with hay wheels, van, farmhouse, gigantic maple tree,
lavender rows, hill, mountains, cloud, sun, and feeling my own body
still carrying me, step by step, breath by breath through this chambered
green heart on a hillside in Washington county.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7zS9i8nesquGS2oO_Kzg1PROrpsI42-jGk8MXQS5lXwOlYfwjbcronfyha3j8Nc0Cp6BiPyFzeEqkBzzV9lXyfWEc1xaLRDSEgGUe-dqxP9Lfk7PJCxaIVaP-JPBTql0xGL30oii5NwKK/s1600/DSC_0517.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7zS9i8nesquGS2oO_Kzg1PROrpsI42-jGk8MXQS5lXwOlYfwjbcronfyha3j8Nc0Cp6BiPyFzeEqkBzzV9lXyfWEc1xaLRDSEgGUe-dqxP9Lfk7PJCxaIVaP-JPBTql0xGL30oii5NwKK/s1600/DSC_0517.jpg" height="213" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Laverinth: a lavender labyrinth for meditative walking.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My dog Sadie bounding through the labyrnth.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgt8NUunmeb-wZfwXQbCMLOlr21lq8v_mNn3u1Uwas4XidHsYqkeUmyYFkWtME0wB5ys2i1hIwn7mwjvduogPCp18zgTW4nxHz9o5tpoV9aKXhfeEksOkXTwVnakwzIum27eJ1nbIhDxC0/s1600/DSC_0870.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgt8NUunmeb-wZfwXQbCMLOlr21lq8v_mNn3u1Uwas4XidHsYqkeUmyYFkWtME0wB5ys2i1hIwn7mwjvduogPCp18zgTW4nxHz9o5tpoV9aKXhfeEksOkXTwVnakwzIum27eJ1nbIhDxC0/s1600/DSC_0870.jpg" height="320" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A cricket sings from the safety of the lavender leaves.</td></tr>
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Claudia Carlsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14790701472190156784noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7122929901650529520.post-86544320894880628582014-08-25T00:20:00.000-04:002014-08-25T19:41:20.998-04:00Croissant and Viennoiserie Diary <style>
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</style>August 2014<br />
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As I left a meeting with my oncology nutritionist, on Manhattans
Upper East Side, I noticed Gotham Caf<span style="font-family: "Arial Unicode MS";">é</span> advertising Balthazar goodies inside. I've
been craving a gluten treat ever since my daughter Caitlin sent an email from
Paris describing the perfect crunch, chew, and buttery savor of a superb
croissant. Granted, sweet carbohydrates weren't on the doctors recommended foods list;
but I have been eating gluten free for years and wanted a bit of carpe diem
during chemo. I'll soon be eliminating carbo sweets, except
for rare occasions, and embracing <span class="st">cruciferous</span> veggies within a Mediterranean
diet to better improve my chances against the cancer. But this week...I'm on a farewell spree...</div>
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<b>Balthazar Almond Croissant </b></div>
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It smelled buttery and almondy as I bit the end to ascertain the
quality of the dough. It was texture perfection, lofty and well layered, flaky
crunch outside, softer but maintaining tender layers inside, and a perfect
golden brown. The flavor was good, butter and flour were fresh, but the taste
didn't leap to heavenly. My next bite, with base and topping, sent me into
bliss. The majority of the croissant had toasted almonds slices set into a thin
frangipani coating on the top. The almonds amplified the crunch and shatter of
the outer crust. The marzipan flavor was perfectly calibrated to the ratio of
dough in a mouthful. Sweet but not too sweet. As I waited for my bus and took
bites I must have looked like an addict scoring a hit. It was the best almond
croissant I've ever had. Balthazar has a commercial bakery in New Jersey
supplying many caf<span style="font-family: "Arial Unicode MS";">é</span>s in the
city and a walk in bakery at 80 Spring Street, in SoHo, NYC.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The delicious Balthazar almond croissant is sold in many locations. </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnyrD3WojdNmPFhXwX1-Y6iQZCnwiCLKNPdWXqWr37hiOjMokCSxK2enSTV9yJKlej4zULYRuJToax73vHG1_c34HbVxUHTNLZRFE85OsrTvez5iGYb3EPFgKAiM2ey0cVPKf2biFrYsCu/s1600/DSC_0248.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnyrD3WojdNmPFhXwX1-Y6iQZCnwiCLKNPdWXqWr37hiOjMokCSxK2enSTV9yJKlej4zULYRuJToax73vHG1_c34HbVxUHTNLZRFE85OsrTvez5iGYb3EPFgKAiM2ey0cVPKf2biFrYsCu/s1600/DSC_0248.JPG" height="213" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Yes, the inside of the Balthazar almond croissant is as good as it looks, crisp and tender buttery layers, lofty and light.</td></tr>
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<div class="Body">
<b>Balthazar Chocolate Croissant</b></div>
<div class="Body">
Having read online that Oren's Daily Roast, in my Columbia University neighborhood,
sold Balthazar baked goods, I waited on the long line as my husband and dog
regarded me mournfully through the window. The rack held a line of chocolate
croissants that were uniform and squarish with a shiny top layer that proved to
be a thin brush of egg glaze. Unfortunately the croissants were dark and
appeared to be over baked. They looked factory produced, while the Balthazar
almond croissants have more variety in shape, giving them a hand crafted
appearance. The over baked proved to be true, when sniffing them there was an
smoky scent. The multilayered dough had a dry slightly bitter burnt flavor. The
real surprise was in the chocolate filling, deliciously bitter sweet and respectfully
subdued in quantity so as not to overwhelm the other flavors. I wished I could
have experienced one baked correctly and I need to do so to make this a fair
review. But even so, I suspect this chocolate croissant will only prove to be
good but not memorable. My husband said good layers, burnt flavor.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiam3tVAvb4f-Q8awYzNJKZNHTHmF8bAv_kj6uBlTSt3obPZNOFIuR_NyPFjsx54nr5UL19bMvnRxzXKLdMV8EFw_TXfTih5lTZ03vK_aV2c9h_4nbSKcAG6he6VYIvt0gP2DmNJRZ7ld5m/s1600/DSC_0221.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiam3tVAvb4f-Q8awYzNJKZNHTHmF8bAv_kj6uBlTSt3obPZNOFIuR_NyPFjsx54nr5UL19bMvnRxzXKLdMV8EFw_TXfTih5lTZ03vK_aV2c9h_4nbSKcAG6he6VYIvt0gP2DmNJRZ7ld5m/s1600/DSC_0221.JPG" height="213" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Balthazar chocolate croissant, over baked.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaIVb_PVzV5gMyl11naEpj2xoqaqSxFcF4h07Zb2KSOm_SVs6YKiYqNfHE9gtEg3_4ZtQpqsg1gEo0ptkjy2b-HZBgDau1er6A-nMCIddvz4Izvlwq4VdjsoXH55Ahzp5IOB4c9sJdrN2q/s1600/DSC_0222.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaIVb_PVzV5gMyl11naEpj2xoqaqSxFcF4h07Zb2KSOm_SVs6YKiYqNfHE9gtEg3_4ZtQpqsg1gEo0ptkjy2b-HZBgDau1er6A-nMCIddvz4Izvlwq4VdjsoXH55Ahzp5IOB4c9sJdrN2q/s1600/DSC_0222.JPG" height="213" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Balthazar chocolate croissant, lovely texture, chocolate restraint.</td></tr>
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<div class="Body">
<b>La Toulousaine Raspberry Croissant</b></div>
<div class="Body">
I discovered there was a French bakery nearby on 942 Amsterdam
Avenue (between West 106th and 107th Streets). I got there with Jim and our
hound by 8:30 am to have a large choice of fresh offerings. The raspberry
croissants were large long irregular rectangles, lavishly dusted with confectioners
sugar, and smelled delicious. Despite being somewhat flat, there were many
layers inside. The crust didn't have quite as much crunch as I like but was
tasty, well layered, and baked to a golden color. The inner layers were soft,
due no doubt to the wet influence of jam during baking. The filling was thick
and very sweet but not over powering. It was utterly delicious and earns the
reviews it gets online. Bring a wipe or napkin for the powdered sugar and
sticky jam that will trace a smile around your mouth.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6cfleAsrenfrEbJBUn5tlO11g9JO6m-73nAIPzg12zJQee4fBNLZqdQFF3bG4TVARJdRz9fUhyOw1eHNMOax2kkmqXU-ZJSCmddEA7hyUOytI6COEFsgTmjRKKKYVKWV9La3a3U3Fo5h3/s1600/DSC_0176.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6cfleAsrenfrEbJBUn5tlO11g9JO6m-73nAIPzg12zJQee4fBNLZqdQFF3bG4TVARJdRz9fUhyOw1eHNMOax2kkmqXU-ZJSCmddEA7hyUOytI6COEFsgTmjRKKKYVKWV9La3a3U3Fo5h3/s1600/DSC_0176.JPG" height="213" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">La Toulousaine pain aux raisins on left and the amazing raspberry croissant on the right.</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNRz6s2gFvDRhAPpwfUzv-tJpkcUTCeKP9DkifnUAbVy-xxfrOhj2nKr-xZ61FX4KpoHwFueTTN79L3DA3WTUMHQAvKM6kzCxRr4OxsL8Y4xJD4osGmt6PGkTHvVjibL_HIflDuUrQdiTi/s1600/DSC_0181.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNRz6s2gFvDRhAPpwfUzv-tJpkcUTCeKP9DkifnUAbVy-xxfrOhj2nKr-xZ61FX4KpoHwFueTTN79L3DA3WTUMHQAvKM6kzCxRr4OxsL8Y4xJD4osGmt6PGkTHvVjibL_HIflDuUrQdiTi/s1600/DSC_0181.JPG" height="213" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">La Toulousaine raspberry filling, just the right amount of goodness.</td></tr>
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<div class="Body">
<b><span lang="FR" style="mso-ansi-language: FR;">La Toulousaine </span>Pain
aux Raisins</b></div>
<div class="Body">
The circular raisin ring had been treated with a thick pour of
clear sugar glaze and a central sprinkling of chunky sugar crystals. Both
choices worried me, these are treatments I'm used to from vending machines and
Dunkin' Donuts. The dough wasn't
sufficiently flaky. In taste it was superior to commercial products but fell
far short of what I'd expect from a real French bakery. I took only two bites.
My daughter Caitlin, just returned from a month Europe, where she became an
expert consumer of pain aux raisins, said it wasn't bad, she's had worse, and
only took one bite. If you prefer your pain aux raisins extra sweet and soft,
you may like this, but for me it was only passable due to the fresh
ingredients.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqpScNleKFzAqFDQke8YPQKdLv0f4Vmo4YiY9YMOJacDCKVQoL8z-L0-Wr48dc7Dpo36DQKNOAx3FT5FBjrwzJQeH2tJryxLXjvE5MOhLRXSMdGWUMAcFyN7DR2vtWIBFctqyYxfWVqUVf/s1600/DSC_0182.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqpScNleKFzAqFDQke8YPQKdLv0f4Vmo4YiY9YMOJacDCKVQoL8z-L0-Wr48dc7Dpo36DQKNOAx3FT5FBjrwzJQeH2tJryxLXjvE5MOhLRXSMdGWUMAcFyN7DR2vtWIBFctqyYxfWVqUVf/s1600/DSC_0182.JPG" height="213" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">La Toulousaine pain aux raisins interior. Too sweet?</td></tr>
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<div class="Body">
<b>La Toulousaine Almond Croissant</b></div>
<div class="Body">
It is clear the pastry chef at La Toulousaine prefers the
Viennese approach which adds creamy fillings to the interior.
This almond croissant appeared limp on the rack and looked insufficiently baked inside.
I found the overall flavor to be decent but had no desire to eat more than a
third of it. The interior was unappealing, it tasted like wet under baked
dough. The outer crust didn't shatter or crunch although it had a good flavor. The next
day I stopped by and said the croissant had been under baked, "oh
no,'" said the woman server, "it is the filling." I had not
experienced it as a filling, only clumpy gooey dough. Another rack of damp
defeated almond croissants waited on the shelf. I wouldn't recommended this when
such better alternatives exist; do order the raspberry croissant.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilWB-83PBbfKXsdogd2gXPcNowXhhaRGhdxlHqHF_Ghl5UdYr4BzAtFr8I0z-cFI8rnWJoIjIIq_wRCfCevohlwCxVU05dfG7JYCon39czFzhYWTYEv9sd9Dj-ndAL_WHSQ1S2gZGtTwku/s1600/IMG_6590.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilWB-83PBbfKXsdogd2gXPcNowXhhaRGhdxlHqHF_Ghl5UdYr4BzAtFr8I0z-cFI8rnWJoIjIIq_wRCfCevohlwCxVU05dfG7JYCon39czFzhYWTYEv9sd9Dj-ndAL_WHSQ1S2gZGtTwku/s1600/IMG_6590.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">La Toulousaine almond croissant </td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDLwSBfsd-aQHMTNRivN1ugts4xW37_JMqkzJdM_kXfKd2XxyJUsFXaOPRsQQvrguJ-JuAGgvGSHlb68Wa4bDHBX43TJaxL5tE9fvTtqpSHLyx6SMRGdfIUFTFmH_lbnfzyyqNTwmIPsWw/s1600/IMG_6592.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDLwSBfsd-aQHMTNRivN1ugts4xW37_JMqkzJdM_kXfKd2XxyJUsFXaOPRsQQvrguJ-JuAGgvGSHlb68Wa4bDHBX43TJaxL5tE9fvTtqpSHLyx6SMRGdfIUFTFmH_lbnfzyyqNTwmIPsWw/s1600/IMG_6592.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">La Toulousaine almond croissant interior. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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Claudia Carlsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14790701472190156784noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7122929901650529520.post-12470539754901831482014-05-07T18:14:00.001-04:002014-05-07T18:16:28.608-04:00I am interviewed in my role as book designer!Mary Mackey, author herself, interviewed me about designing book covers. Here it is:<br />
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: arial,sans-serif;"><b><a href="http://marymackey.com/how-to-design-a-book-cover-that-sells-books/" target="_blank" title="How To Design A Book Cover That Sells Books">http://marymackey.com/how-to-<wbr></wbr>design-a-book-cover-that-<wbr></wbr>sells-books/</a></b></span></span></span>Claudia Carlsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14790701472190156784noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7122929901650529520.post-42701365882348904762014-04-26T11:04:00.003-04:002014-04-26T11:04:53.373-04:00More inking fun on 1 train commuteI love drawing with my Japanese ink brush pen. I do a quick pencil sketch and expand it with wet ink line. I realized, it was a flash really, that I don't have to anxiously keep bobbing my head around to keep one person in view to do a portrait. Or gently nudge someone so I can see past them! As people move on and off the subway, or get obscured, I simply look for someone a bit like them at nearly the same angle and keep drawing. I had people on the left and right of me watching eagerly as I discovered this and they too were swiveling around to see who would model an ear or mouth or jacket. So now I've invented the composite portrait. Ta da! <br />
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<br />Claudia Carlsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14790701472190156784noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7122929901650529520.post-36340812097702269982014-02-06T02:37:00.000-05:002014-02-06T02:38:01.921-05:00The Quest for JelloToday I was on a clear liquid diet in preparation for tomorrows colonoscopy. I went out at lunch hour and bought a chicken broth from a sushi place and began searching lower midtown Manhattan for another approved item on the list, Jello. It has the illusion of being a solid. <br />
<br />
At the corner convenience store the manager said "Yellow? Yellow?" as I said "Jello, Jello?" We did this a few times. He clearly didn't have any.<br />
<br />
I next tried the upscale healthy mini-lunch, artisan coffee, artful minimal decor place. There the terribly buff and shellacked looking guy said "Noooo, we don't sell...Jello." You know, as if I'd asked for beef jerky or a jar of pickled pig trotters. "I'm on a liquid diet today, I really need to find Jello!" He sniffed. I left.<br />
<br />
I tried and tried, diners, bagel shops, delis, a pizza place...no Jello.<br />
<br />
Finally, realizing there were several bar/eateries on the street, I waddled into the first one wearing my Nepalese knitted cap, two coats, pink scarf, and neon red plastic knee high boots. Brisk walking just is not possible in an ice storm wearing this gear while carrying my take out bag with the soup. I asked the wait staff "do you have Jello, like in Jello shots?" They sort of backed away from me. "Actually all I want is the Jello part?" They glanced at each other and with barely smothered smirks said "no."<br />
<br />
In the second bar I asked the hostess if they had Jello shots. She stared at me for a moment and said "we don't serve Jello" and when I pleaded "but I'm on a liquid diet today," she looked at me with something like pity and said "no Jello, we don't serve that here." She glanced meaningfully at the exit.<br />
<br />
I gave up. Midtown is officially a Jello-free zone. And I don't even like the stuff.Claudia Carlsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14790701472190156784noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7122929901650529520.post-51060395313379251672013-10-07T00:22:00.003-04:002013-10-08T00:28:22.118-04:00more "Inktober" effortsI'm doing daily ink sketches and I generally can't resist adding color. I may try black line and gray wash as a compromise--so I will get more line aware. I'm still startled by drawing with a bold thick line...but I'm having fun.<br />
Will soon go back to a daily poetry prompt too. Having <i>Pocket Park </i>published is great, but it also leaves me empty of a current poetry project. And until I get obsessed with new themes, time to just do it, keep writing and drawing. It is so good to do throwaway creative exercises. Occasionally something worth keeping, developing, comes out of it.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHmE-tep-VS4vwaBKRoMg8F28ZN1npys6kX1u2XTvAYb5kc4qAkSquvryxgXPFc4J-Wqj_yPH3LK-lhyphenhyphensSLPK02-G87OQyMEJ5xGt-gac2BStSttpP56HR_xvGOpmPffqTR1-lzY41IkcE/s1600/inktober-05-ClaudiaCarlson.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHmE-tep-VS4vwaBKRoMg8F28ZN1npys6kX1u2XTvAYb5kc4qAkSquvryxgXPFc4J-Wqj_yPH3LK-lhyphenhyphensSLPK02-G87OQyMEJ5xGt-gac2BStSttpP56HR_xvGOpmPffqTR1-lzY41IkcE/s400/inktober-05-ClaudiaCarlson.jpg" width="298" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">October is for familiars and witches.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmY8FrvmZTKBpWYWWrhjt5tKC7lnkK6BxY7wuGbei4UKnicW-IKkFXJPjGs9A_oVJ3DmK9jBAWQtsLiHwZrIONdoWNvhDT36B74vOM2_1wlcvE4OEPZoXAxIVDdjBJ6S_pDRNECVKS1rQ8/s1600/inktober-cscarlson-06.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="378" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmY8FrvmZTKBpWYWWrhjt5tKC7lnkK6BxY7wuGbei4UKnicW-IKkFXJPjGs9A_oVJ3DmK9jBAWQtsLiHwZrIONdoWNvhDT36B74vOM2_1wlcvE4OEPZoXAxIVDdjBJ6S_pDRNECVKS1rQ8/s400/inktober-cscarlson-06.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Houndlet performs the Danish play.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_tgoeVcB8OReP2e8V_MtwmYUhUkbkIo8dO5xf3x8IoSxH1i8SIA4m6-KsPQ0scLkBiQLAnfCs1GSYAhtDOggzzxdT7EIH4bDDaJR_KnoSoOfO35yuNoEp_ZO2m-hTgM7X0hYPJVeEDmr9/s1600/inktober07-CSCarlson.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_tgoeVcB8OReP2e8V_MtwmYUhUkbkIo8dO5xf3x8IoSxH1i8SIA4m6-KsPQ0scLkBiQLAnfCs1GSYAhtDOggzzxdT7EIH4bDDaJR_KnoSoOfO35yuNoEp_ZO2m-hTgM7X0hYPJVeEDmr9/s400/inktober07-CSCarlson.jpg" width="283" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This time, just ink and ONE color.</td></tr>
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<br />Claudia Carlsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14790701472190156784noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7122929901650529520.post-63301403696343322352013-10-02T23:13:00.001-04:002013-10-02T23:13:23.588-04:00Book Launch for Pocket ParkFriday, November 15, 2013, 7 p.m.<br /><a href="http://poetshouse.org/about/tour-our-space/visiting">Poet's House</a><br />10 River Terrace, New York, NY<br /> (212) 431-7920<br /><a href="http://poetshouse.org/">poetshouse.org</a>Claudia Carlsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14790701472190156784noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7122929901650529520.post-3528219987385087152013-10-02T16:11:00.001-04:002013-10-02T16:27:39.677-04:00Pocket Park is published!Yes, October 1st came and the status of my book is no longer "<a href="http://www.spdbooks.org/Producte/9780988235694/pocket-park.aspx?rf=1">forthcoming</a>" but "<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Pocket-Park-Claudia-Carlson/dp/0988235692">adopt me</a>!"<br />
<br />
Going on press to check color was a huge good thing to do. I was sick with a cold, but with tissues on hand, I took the LIRR out to East Rockaway, NY. where Sandy McIntosh, publisher at Marsh Hawk Press, picked me up and drove us to the printers, Sterling Pierce. After four tries we approved a better cover than Michael Arguelles, the color tech guru, had at first shown us. He was patient and ultimately shifted the cover to another machine that was able to deliver more contrast and saturation than the one printing the interior.<br />
<br />
The interior looks really good, it helps to be on glossy brochure style paper. After getting a first set of proofs at home last month I'd adjusted color slightly on nine of the interior photos (too dark or too light) and now they printed just fine. I've created a color setting in Photoshop for each printer I use so the screen emulates their color. It's working, I'd guess about 90% on target, since a piece of printed paper will never be as bright as the stained glass effect of a glowing monitor. Or in design-speak, two different color spaces, CMYK vs RGB (like comparing Olive Oil to Popeye in a battle of color strength).<br />
<br />
Digital color printing still isn't the equal of a traditional full 4-color press...but...it's gotten a lot better in the last several iterations of the machines that churn these pages out. The digital printers are basically a seven foot long photocopier. Traditional presses can be the length of an Olympic sized pool and wide as a semi! My photos don't depend on subtle shifts in skin tone, that<i> would</i> be hard to do digitally. <i>Pocket Park, </i>visually, is about mid-tone gray and tan geometric urban planes contrasting with saturated hues of water and foliage. An urban park in color. With poems in black ink Garamond.<br />
<br />
Sandy asked me to pick some photos from the book to put on the Marsh Hawk Press gallery section of their website. And to talk about how the book came into being, including my experience working with digital color. So here is my day wearing three hats: poet, photographer, and book designer. All three happy.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4Vr0ji1tFJ0uDs7B-pbmA7vhiPqQbE0omfJKdignlfxmh1p9NCsCSNhoT7EHPli3Mdbg_JEF_Bd7dy_aXGSPuaZO9F1bf1WEJh4VcAMKSKPcA0lWwOrRBMiYt9aSyKLW2FF2ZXZyBUzcz/s1600/PP-IMG_4237.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4Vr0ji1tFJ0uDs7B-pbmA7vhiPqQbE0omfJKdignlfxmh1p9NCsCSNhoT7EHPli3Mdbg_JEF_Bd7dy_aXGSPuaZO9F1bf1WEJh4VcAMKSKPcA0lWwOrRBMiYt9aSyKLW2FF2ZXZyBUzcz/s400/PP-IMG_4237.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The skilled Michael Arguelles with me at Sterling Pierce, printers. <br />
Due to head cold, I'm having a massive bad hair week.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEji-3MEqiqczO3DT7EvOTG4MrKaqlnSKXBcY3DLTpt8N0Bhh2BJ1ruIilVRmC2OWi-_0IWzr76cFmRw5KjMnI7c_cHcG0XiCsX95BAzGh7umqgqX93lRTq-7bRSFLatC03M_GHm8QD1btgL/s1600/PP-IMG_4241.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEji-3MEqiqczO3DT7EvOTG4MrKaqlnSKXBcY3DLTpt8N0Bhh2BJ1ruIilVRmC2OWi-_0IWzr76cFmRw5KjMnI7c_cHcG0XiCsX95BAzGh7umqgqX93lRTq-7bRSFLatC03M_GHm8QD1btgL/s320/PP-IMG_4241.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sandy McIntosh, publisher at Marsh Hawk Press.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifLkD6bY-WsDOd88vFdGv579SXPg3unViIUQJtKrbggYEomqpqiKIrUZhHzwimVhT2JbU5pzLW5CpufM-2D6Kc4lw0Zw-xvK8zsKqmueQMRdeDNWFblu-hpZro7N9EbGKosQeT3B0PXBj0/s1600/PP-IMG_4242.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifLkD6bY-WsDOd88vFdGv579SXPg3unViIUQJtKrbggYEomqpqiKIrUZhHzwimVhT2JbU5pzLW5CpufM-2D6Kc4lw0Zw-xvK8zsKqmueQMRdeDNWFblu-hpZro7N9EbGKosQeT3B0PXBj0/s320/PP-IMG_4242.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">4 pages to a sheet.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFf9gkR42cMRHKjxqBisy1gThhcEgQW4wX540kRgALDiIld3_V9qanDzaOHXrjGNhiYiTwTVBHCpahME-BT_2f7pRFl0NIpAaqH1tG1H9C8CI8Q3pGZYfAhD_l1Gi-zGCzxTBKZ2cHQOLx/s1600/PP-IMG_4243.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFf9gkR42cMRHKjxqBisy1gThhcEgQW4wX540kRgALDiIld3_V9qanDzaOHXrjGNhiYiTwTVBHCpahME-BT_2f7pRFl0NIpAaqH1tG1H9C8CI8Q3pGZYfAhD_l1Gi-zGCzxTBKZ2cHQOLx/s400/PP-IMG_4243.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Look! My title page! Sandy tends to blink into the flash, <br />
honestly he looked lots happier than this.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBcYqZoKRJ1pqNtuf-8Ar7C_WiUl_dp10ixQQ8xgq8dzjuR7a_MvRxmDLQcFawBq2aCP6V99448bmvn629CV5px96SxlfVRtP_XcpGmKXCkPdEhMc3WsCJun-zT5xP4BKiYQEcQuDypU8E/s1600/PP-IMG_4244.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBcYqZoKRJ1pqNtuf-8Ar7C_WiUl_dp10ixQQ8xgq8dzjuR7a_MvRxmDLQcFawBq2aCP6V99448bmvn629CV5px96SxlfVRtP_XcpGmKXCkPdEhMc3WsCJun-zT5xP4BKiYQEcQuDypU8E/s320/PP-IMG_4244.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Good color all the way through.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFbhBb0iqARPpTDJYSoFYuFpFm0ImNcOqlb7-MbsOjPeBjkAu9xZbKXckRncpoFUPQn3Vt8HOph0syKfkeIvqa_P3H0aCgxnfIe2OJXQ-BWs6td246PUgYgqJ9Ce4gYV-wNU1G7Ft2ERB9/s1600/PP-IMG_4245.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFbhBb0iqARPpTDJYSoFYuFpFm0ImNcOqlb7-MbsOjPeBjkAu9xZbKXckRncpoFUPQn3Vt8HOph0syKfkeIvqa_P3H0aCgxnfIe2OJXQ-BWs6td246PUgYgqJ9Ce4gYV-wNU1G7Ft2ERB9/s320/PP-IMG_4245.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Approved to print & bind.</td></tr>
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<br />Claudia Carlsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12324315965898786565noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7122929901650529520.post-35096832259483675472013-10-02T14:52:00.000-04:002013-10-02T14:54:36.410-04:00Inktober, or how to get practice for a month drawing in inkOctober is Inktober. Who knew? Now you do too. One a day.<br />
Here is Mr. Acorn, based on nuts stolen from squirrels on a walk with my daughter Caitlin 2 weeks ago in Central Park. She also draws in ink, in her case, the blue and black of everyday ball point pens. This was drawn with a Pentel marker/brush and colored pencils.<br />
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<br />Claudia Carlsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12324315965898786565noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7122929901650529520.post-20263716344948619632013-08-25T12:55:00.003-04:002013-08-25T14:08:07.319-04:00Mom, Julie Harris, and me, a cautionary taleMy Julie Harris story. <br />
When I was 9-3/4, my mother took me on her yearly weekend trip to Vermont to visit her old high school. We stayed at the Woodstock Inn for a night and visited the town, woods, and ski slopes where she'd perfected her "Christys," and drove by the turn-off to the Woodstock Country School as she extolled the delights of hiking and fresh air in her Brooklyn accent. Larry Hagman had also gone to that boarding school, a year or so ahead, but they weren't friends, especially since Mom wasn't a bit interested in dating boys.<br />
On our way back from the pilgrimage to my mother's youth, we pulled into a restaurant in Connecticut to get a late lunch and help me recover from the car-sickness I felt from my mothers smoke filled-car and its rough rocking suspension.<br />
"I'm sorry, we just closed." <br />
"My girl really needs something to eat, could you please see if someone in the kitchen could help us with a bite?"<br />
I was pale and swaying.<br />
"All right," said the waitress returning from the chef, "but you can't sit in the dining room, we have a private party there, we can seat you in this side room."<br />
As we followed her, Mom glanced through the dining room door as it swung shut and grabbed my arm and hoarsely whispered "Oh My God! Julie Harris. JULIE HARRIS!!! is sitting in there!"<br />
Mom kept muttering Julie Harris to herself.<br />
We sat down. I gulped my water and ate a breadstick. Mom stared at me. She tentatively tried to straighten my bangs (impossible), push the topiary of curls out of my face (hopeless), and reposition the cat-shaped tortoise shell eyeglasses that habitually slipped off-tilt down my nose.<br />
"You're cute, all kids are cute," she began. I could see she was doing her best to believe this. The drool stains from when I'd managed to fall asleep sucking on a stick of licorice hardly showed on my shirt.<br />
"Look, you're out of water, you walk in there with that empty glass and nicely ask the waitress for more water and then when Julie Harris looks at you tell her how much you loved her in <i>The Member of the Wedding</i>. She played a kid in that. Perfect. Go on." She wiped my mouth with a corner of her napkin. Squinted. Removed my glasses. Then wet her palms with water and squashed down my hair. "Go now. Better without the glasses, go on."<br />
I was deeply myopic. I only bumped into a few chairs heading into the dining room peering about for the waitress… Julie and the man were absorbed in one of those tense weird adult conversations full of silences and conversational stabs. I tip-toed over. My heart hammered. Julie was skinny and not that much bigger than me. <br />
"Could I please have some waaaa…." I began.<br />
Julie and her companion startled and stared at me with the same expression one gives a newly produced hairball.<br />
"I told you we wanted privacy, privacy, get out, get out!!" She shouted over my head.<br />
The waitress ran in, a white aproned blur.<br />
"Get out!"<br />
I ran. <br />
"We're never coming back here! Get me the check." was the last I heard.<br />
<br />
I rejoined my mother, breathless and red-faced.<br />
"How did it go, did you get her autograph?"<br />
I shook my head.<br />
"No…I don't think she likes kids."<br />
"Mmmm, actresses, probably don't know what they're missing not having a girl like you."<br />
I put my glasses back on and decided I'd earned French Toast with whipped cream for lunch.<br />
"How could she not like you, you're so cute?"<br />
"I dunno."<br />
"Why didn't you get water?"<br />
"Waitress wasn't there."<br />
"That's where you went wrong! You should have waited to ask the waitress for water, you don't ask Julie Harris for water."<br />
"I'll never do it again, Mom, promise."Claudia Carlsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14790701472190156784noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7122929901650529520.post-46004823234533905392013-08-10T17:50:00.001-04:002013-08-10T19:34:44.635-04:00Let the book get printed, embrace promotion!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
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I am almost ready to send <i>Pocket Park</i> to the printer! Print proofs look good, I did final adjustments to a half dozen photos... It is getting one last proofreading before it goes because, you know, I don't want any new typos creeping in and having you, dear public, gently point them out. <br />
<br />
My friend Flash suggested I could lead a workshop on how to take a regular lunch hour hangout and turn it into a project of seeing, of being there, using more of your senses, in the course of a year. That would be fun!<br />
<br />
As I let this project stop, no more changes, revisions, additions, or deletions, I am still aware of the more perfect book I wanted it to be. This ghostly betterness has once again slipped my ability and I'm left with doingness. I created this book to the fullest, the most that I could and that feels right. I wish I had better mental and physical equipment (a small DSLR would be able to capture motion, which my pocket camera cannot) but hey, I can only be the me I am and as much as I'd like to borrow some O'Hara, Sylvia Plath or Donald Justice, Diane Arbus or Vivian Maier... I was stuck with me. No, revise that, I was me but I paid attention.<br />
<br />
I will give readings and see if the Eventi Hotel wants to work with me on a way to celebrate the book. I can create a site. I'm agog.<br />
<br />
My mind is turning to new books, in the perfect blur of possibility. Like falling in love. The work-in-progress is saying, Claudia, this time, this time you will get closer, and in the process surprise yourself. So here I come, goodbye done, hello beguiling.<br />
<br />
<br />Claudia Carlsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14790701472190156784noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7122929901650529520.post-35778941315935357482013-08-01T19:37:00.001-04:002013-08-01T19:37:16.569-04:00My first article on making fantasy maps is published!!!I just received my copies of <i>The Portolan</i>, journal of the Washington map society. In 2011 I gave a talk in the map room of the library of congress to the society. The editor of the journal, Tom Sander, asked me to turn it into an article, with some of the images that had been in my PowerPoint slideshow. Since I'd sort of gone off script in the talk, my nervousness just miraculously evaporated as I spoke, I recreated the jist and added more to explain what I've learned over the years of making literary invented worlds become visible. I also looked at how changes in technology shaped how I worked. Not to mention fitting a universe in a tiny poorly printed paperback page. I got a bit more personal than the journal was expecting, but hopefully, their readers will enjoy hearing, again, about the joys, and sometime failures, of this particular craft.<br /><br /><br /><br /><center><a href='https://picasaweb.google.com/114525185215821322844/ElephantHouse?authkey=Gv1sRgCMvZ0oK53rz7uwE#5907299024178775106'><img src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIpmW4KRSIE2uEUe7_vnUVqCKIgBeNsxUlQJj8nJM_qKbMrFxXdJ87Jh9LhTuUaduZM0oTW8SnC11TH6toEiWLFjbGtxgESSNY8idmA0yUdAQ_Yz7TMzqPUs6tswkGTSmHHpHyJqcwDYZm/s288/1375400601.792516.jpg' border='0' width='281' height='252' style='margin:5px'></a></center><br />- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad<br />Claudia Carlsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14790701472190156784noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7122929901650529520.post-68391717170161449642013-07-11T09:12:00.004-04:002013-07-11T09:12:41.529-04:00Final moments on cover and then I WILL MOVE ONCreating the ad for Fall 2013 Marsh Hawk Press books...there are two
launching. Pocket Park has met its final count down. So will it be PATH, REFLECTION,
or TREES? <br />
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Claudia Carlsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14790701472190156784noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7122929901650529520.post-15154847312075469702013-06-30T18:53:00.000-04:002013-06-30T18:53:05.651-04:00Cover me round 2, more abstract mostlyI thank everyone who voted on the covers I put together yesterday, your comments and reactions got me thinking about getting more mysterious, abstract, and focused. So here are today's contestants (click to see larger):<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFB7wGv1fgsg2aRDN37WHsmzDg9Z9Dn5_PHBt28peuXkcM68p6SVFyY1pueC4Fw1VESFHwT4oXeg4Dx-BFSm0u8LxCSnljNUF3f93GiQ9BZ7l240snqqcYbSNgthLdlAMhCBfYhwcjVLSN/s882/Pocket-Park2-cvr-A.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="235" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFB7wGv1fgsg2aRDN37WHsmzDg9Z9Dn5_PHBt28peuXkcM68p6SVFyY1pueC4Fw1VESFHwT4oXeg4Dx-BFSm0u8LxCSnljNUF3f93GiQ9BZ7l240snqqcYbSNgthLdlAMhCBfYhwcjVLSN/s320/Pocket-Park2-cvr-A.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A, front runner from yesterday</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWBFqANOoRjdh-a2EySMxDB6xYuTI7-IxaF368QgYIKcRjqofQIM14E4XkNhRszDwEpofFm3bfxdyeFa02XG72ItOFA59kWPJ4ci3q-u9lWYW2hac3rM6DiqCyHDEPk1LgOzRriuNxYzUP/s882/Pocket-Park2-cvr-B.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="235" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWBFqANOoRjdh-a2EySMxDB6xYuTI7-IxaF368QgYIKcRjqofQIM14E4XkNhRszDwEpofFm3bfxdyeFa02XG72ItOFA59kWPJ4ci3q-u9lWYW2hac3rM6DiqCyHDEPk1LgOzRriuNxYzUP/s320/Pocket-Park2-cvr-B.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">B</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvcFzast6RnKKoUkENeg_DW44KCjw4U4bdLPax7vXc31UEaKBznrTmUjWWXWzW_2ximEbN6dm8X0jXybvptNSYkqX0LvaDIJC4xb2mnMgYHSiMpF5gi5TnczwgYF-nwan2tcuR2bCs2jIz/s882/Pocket-Park2-cvr-D.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="235" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvcFzast6RnKKoUkENeg_DW44KCjw4U4bdLPax7vXc31UEaKBznrTmUjWWXWzW_2ximEbN6dm8X0jXybvptNSYkqX0LvaDIJC4xb2mnMgYHSiMpF5gi5TnczwgYF-nwan2tcuR2bCs2jIz/s320/Pocket-Park2-cvr-D.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">C</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivjVd31Kitr1TamoG2o0T5VFpIgtWUcftuOIM-hN1zqy4xMWMDgS-_FlVAQDVCdqoS5nc67yJr7RZ-DEfKjAlrvRlcrCdx3KwYmJxTKA1llQ28ShFOz2uTs_xloQB7TF-R99G4W_T6TBZK/s882/Pocket-Park2-cvr-E.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="235" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivjVd31Kitr1TamoG2o0T5VFpIgtWUcftuOIM-hN1zqy4xMWMDgS-_FlVAQDVCdqoS5nc67yJr7RZ-DEfKjAlrvRlcrCdx3KwYmJxTKA1llQ28ShFOz2uTs_xloQB7TF-R99G4W_T6TBZK/s320/Pocket-Park2-cvr-E.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">D</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghC2YyGwReCoPMC8vjselCpNIbCepdCd0i4RLTAAwLOq4c-YOV62ifKfqPu4S-eLA932vzqUU3b1DYc3S4I70Z5HRcWpw3pE8dkO2QQ_fzGHiLtUDq6aP3QoOFClqpsxJEoK_dWfJoTPYC/s882/Pocket-Park2-cvr-F.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="235" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghC2YyGwReCoPMC8vjselCpNIbCepdCd0i4RLTAAwLOq4c-YOV62ifKfqPu4S-eLA932vzqUU3b1DYc3S4I70Z5HRcWpw3pE8dkO2QQ_fzGHiLtUDq6aP3QoOFClqpsxJEoK_dWfJoTPYC/s320/Pocket-Park2-cvr-F.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">E</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikVdwv6QbO8Q4POzVSpKSZ47m1XtEJXOd7Wc3eez40dW4qieisz8xvZfMQ_hzFxH-APoyb-S21tWrh3En5vpQd7CIggGx-lelbbBYyohAdDJg3RgGWYsKq0Aqh6RHAc6zA5fLDkpCNFaIX/s882/Pocket-Park2-cvr-G.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="235" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikVdwv6QbO8Q4POzVSpKSZ47m1XtEJXOd7Wc3eez40dW4qieisz8xvZfMQ_hzFxH-APoyb-S21tWrh3En5vpQd7CIggGx-lelbbBYyohAdDJg3RgGWYsKq0Aqh6RHAc6zA5fLDkpCNFaIX/s320/Pocket-Park2-cvr-G.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">F</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjb9YgPTa1dJ2CHczHHAoYIt7qEebB6lyl0p2swDgoON-LOe-nlJhQSW4XJVmRqfHYiZ-vtPcrVUiIGKaRtVukbk8N_QR1koj09t8eiCXle6x596m1r90iYlS-2fExkicNgS43NoJDnx0Js/s882/Pocket-Park2-cvr-C.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="235" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjb9YgPTa1dJ2CHczHHAoYIt7qEebB6lyl0p2swDgoON-LOe-nlJhQSW4XJVmRqfHYiZ-vtPcrVUiIGKaRtVukbk8N_QR1koj09t8eiCXle6x596m1r90iYlS-2fExkicNgS43NoJDnx0Js/s320/Pocket-Park2-cvr-C.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">G</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />Claudia Carlsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14790701472190156784noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7122929901650529520.post-19741461792895423242013-06-29T16:52:00.000-04:002013-06-29T17:08:29.028-04:00Cover me!I'm finishing my book <i>Pocket Park</i> and getting files ready to go to the printer. The inside is done, the library of congress data arrived and I put it in its slot on the copyright page, I've made final corrections, and it will soon fly out of here on it's electrons.<br />
<br />
But now—the cover. Do I have the best photo for it?<br />
<br />
The one I picked is rather dark, suggesting the poems are likewise, and mostly, they aren't. But I'm afraid of using something too bland, too meh. So tell me, which ones look best?<br />
Note, A is the current cover.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2XEMeRH5S7hthMT9jdbfU_ZlhRdbEDhUzM6sMaZtzKqhQc-PNlov6l18AZ7ejw6baDmG7hIjBnrjH1PGeUrWjsBdjI3hygYzUpHIidfwURM5Ttyt4psSZ2ZxH5eVSzHnbNEWmXmpV6sjj/s453/Pocket-Park-cvr-A.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2XEMeRH5S7hthMT9jdbfU_ZlhRdbEDhUzM6sMaZtzKqhQc-PNlov6l18AZ7ejw6baDmG7hIjBnrjH1PGeUrWjsBdjI3hygYzUpHIidfwURM5Ttyt4psSZ2ZxH5eVSzHnbNEWmXmpV6sjj/s320/Pocket-Park-cvr-A.jpg" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivK3L1dUfXE5W7LlFhEWlgu9IUEKAVhwy4yZ62klqmBN3zjs1l9Xs4XQGdtpcWKPYlQid0U92FdXXLMu_gFUcWQLSpnj9Y24cMRHfGFvt7rw4rDpp5Rb24bTfwbHRPSelqPW8jiseQQnyd/s453/Pocket-Park-cvr-B.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivK3L1dUfXE5W7LlFhEWlgu9IUEKAVhwy4yZ62klqmBN3zjs1l9Xs4XQGdtpcWKPYlQid0U92FdXXLMu_gFUcWQLSpnj9Y24cMRHfGFvt7rw4rDpp5Rb24bTfwbHRPSelqPW8jiseQQnyd/s320/Pocket-Park-cvr-B.jpg" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">B</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWc9wEeloMCBWDwG5El1LlLVrKZMba-XJjsXZRW9W8yeSHFPC7idXvBxG4f0ICe4fMfTIdXfC2ilJAvTEz2G9uMZYzZT-d_fioZaTxg1C2tRq-sUueFQI2tBkZmdeiDkA5VdWiT3RkpLgO/s453/Pocket-Park-cvr-C.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWc9wEeloMCBWDwG5El1LlLVrKZMba-XJjsXZRW9W8yeSHFPC7idXvBxG4f0ICe4fMfTIdXfC2ilJAvTEz2G9uMZYzZT-d_fioZaTxg1C2tRq-sUueFQI2tBkZmdeiDkA5VdWiT3RkpLgO/s320/Pocket-Park-cvr-C.jpg" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">C</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwmfpG7Ey_mW7wIvGiy4deTPkI3x-k0Mki46eJwCUVS-GyhHBOJQ225_YyHkukR4GDUr9AwfYuM8hKF9J2fRXqVdsC6TcFbCyaOTDrGK-nUP5oiW0Gu2l-S19D7pT7o8esnoVVGA0uyWVK/s453/Pocket-Park-cvr-D.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwmfpG7Ey_mW7wIvGiy4deTPkI3x-k0Mki46eJwCUVS-GyhHBOJQ225_YyHkukR4GDUr9AwfYuM8hKF9J2fRXqVdsC6TcFbCyaOTDrGK-nUP5oiW0Gu2l-S19D7pT7o8esnoVVGA0uyWVK/s320/Pocket-Park-cvr-D.jpg" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">D</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijXsSepdUMDSqANG0vOU-5ozqI36z799fQNbBZrMKJ7JPfl7QH-wJ-xYV8XRvR7t_fcqHhX0mCq1E_pck1FGWZAyANPr3XFCJJYe9Subfr5mc5JhNy8It_1SYoRgkQJSeHmfAX-r1eqW1I/s453/Pocket-Park-cvr-E.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijXsSepdUMDSqANG0vOU-5ozqI36z799fQNbBZrMKJ7JPfl7QH-wJ-xYV8XRvR7t_fcqHhX0mCq1E_pck1FGWZAyANPr3XFCJJYe9Subfr5mc5JhNy8It_1SYoRgkQJSeHmfAX-r1eqW1I/s320/Pocket-Park-cvr-E.jpg" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">E</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYzXzyvzfy9EiiAuC-LeXEF62AUOqz8TYWj8hBHRi71ZckxyrW0L6P19uHdRoCflBhlBkHAqVn9V_zHnlhx7PLW0NMYz3TkjGI353DfYn-VLZcZE1ssMD8BCpuVMHphv6NQ5G9A73BW6lF/s453/Pocket-Park-cvr-F.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYzXzyvzfy9EiiAuC-LeXEF62AUOqz8TYWj8hBHRi71ZckxyrW0L6P19uHdRoCflBhlBkHAqVn9V_zHnlhx7PLW0NMYz3TkjGI353DfYn-VLZcZE1ssMD8BCpuVMHphv6NQ5G9A73BW6lF/s320/Pocket-Park-cvr-F.jpg" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">F</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjod6fV6JXyQrEHqbOdz4qC-VuZHpeD77zMiFE3zyPgyS1phMfhgM8nNvcrTbOVtDS9Pc0U96loFnyzkacLf9sQe2ZQd2DpnigQQLe_MZjwsQKYqd-KPwot_QMIv0vpvB8_Yq1Pn6-yAs9p/s453/Pocket-Park-cvr-G.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjod6fV6JXyQrEHqbOdz4qC-VuZHpeD77zMiFE3zyPgyS1phMfhgM8nNvcrTbOVtDS9Pc0U96loFnyzkacLf9sQe2ZQd2DpnigQQLe_MZjwsQKYqd-KPwot_QMIv0vpvB8_Yq1Pn6-yAs9p/s320/Pocket-Park-cvr-G.jpg" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">G</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJGeh1qoJakld6SZ7lKLfJS8MU3FNhqUBN995VHHj0pfXdSzWlcGZQyxQwNTGuEVKaPrSeXJK1uNBNZT-6V5btOt8pEw65qp8-nPUFGmg4qMaf1vA-jY5WBHhdfEDrhFkhgBbv8gokLPNb/s454/Pocket-Park-cvr-H.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJGeh1qoJakld6SZ7lKLfJS8MU3FNhqUBN995VHHj0pfXdSzWlcGZQyxQwNTGuEVKaPrSeXJK1uNBNZT-6V5btOt8pEw65qp8-nPUFGmg4qMaf1vA-jY5WBHhdfEDrhFkhgBbv8gokLPNb/s320/Pocket-Park-cvr-H.jpg" width="212" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">H</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWlBvS9gE3ZLAttxkA6XfspsDcgAAF3qwWvcvtUmcISPhR_L9EAJMlZff8qJ7EMBKHlD6fOPulyrLXLUmaPrgV75Nc-3X5Fz4L_7w6Nb2XHJEar6cjG1qbIGq2Vak0PQ2udNdq09Etr0am/s453/Pocket-Park-cvr-I.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWlBvS9gE3ZLAttxkA6XfspsDcgAAF3qwWvcvtUmcISPhR_L9EAJMlZff8qJ7EMBKHlD6fOPulyrLXLUmaPrgV75Nc-3X5Fz4L_7w6Nb2XHJEar6cjG1qbIGq2Vak0PQ2udNdq09Etr0am/s320/Pocket-Park-cvr-I.jpg" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQ-wRqPUh2kOZ6NhQP7U5FiMmpA4w5p5mEIOJm6e1LgCfiYWBK8nr0p20jP3w0RpvJg5f-DU6c63rVvGnh5OcCabkBtP_lVQcufxceh1oUlUciLVQ3YweF4jtn2xLCwqJCxxFYGyc6KPA5/s453/Pocket-Park-cvr-J.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQ-wRqPUh2kOZ6NhQP7U5FiMmpA4w5p5mEIOJm6e1LgCfiYWBK8nr0p20jP3w0RpvJg5f-DU6c63rVvGnh5OcCabkBtP_lVQcufxceh1oUlUciLVQ3YweF4jtn2xLCwqJCxxFYGyc6KPA5/s320/Pocket-Park-cvr-J.jpg" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">J</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFhN8GUB6RquqoEeVVDh8F6S_e5c1KwpmpVUTf88Is9N3dmjwP7rpQfVE0YCP_lYFItVutFTGdEbhLcK2L5gpivWNchAJDft08kSBSuOHs0DbLa68lTmtOqUAUrs88Vm3VvWWJGfiU68rI/s453/Pocket-Park-cvr-K.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFhN8GUB6RquqoEeVVDh8F6S_e5c1KwpmpVUTf88Is9N3dmjwP7rpQfVE0YCP_lYFItVutFTGdEbhLcK2L5gpivWNchAJDft08kSBSuOHs0DbLa68lTmtOqUAUrs88Vm3VvWWJGfiU68rI/s320/Pocket-Park-cvr-K.jpg" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">K</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
<b><i>Summer Haiku</i></b><br />
<br />Trees discuss the heat,<br />lack of soil, they sigh and creak<br />in their rough girdles.<br />
<br />
<br />
<i><b>The US Open in the Pocket</b></i><br />
<br />The ball pocks <br />from serve to racket<br />heads swivel<br />following the play <br />on the outdoor<br />mega-wall display<br /><br />pock—pock—pock<br />the pixelated ball<br />is the irregular beat<br />of a collective heart<br /><br />sparrows hop <br />close and closer<br />to unguarded bounty<br />as Forest Hills<br />thrills New York county.<br /><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Claudia Carlsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14790701472190156784noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7122929901650529520.post-73761617625030878722013-06-28T07:54:00.003-04:002013-06-28T08:12:16.492-04:00Da Dawg Days in June<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNHy2gcF8NFWUiBWNL-G1iSv629yuvngZp8oK-V0nYxS38_2ONUhqEdSy4KjbSkwpyFevddDU5pZ3cYRwhN3jfPZqS4MhFTaunTkvxBypw_I3yglOfzVwxdLwH6CHUt3TbMnh5zxjheALR/s809/photodawg-02.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNHy2gcF8NFWUiBWNL-G1iSv629yuvngZp8oK-V0nYxS38_2ONUhqEdSy4KjbSkwpyFevddDU5pZ3cYRwhN3jfPZqS4MhFTaunTkvxBypw_I3yglOfzVwxdLwH6CHUt3TbMnh5zxjheALR/s400/photodawg-02.jpg" width="395" /> </a><br />
Sculpture in plastic clay of a character for a kids book I'm writing. Oh this is fun.<br />
<br />
I used to sculpt a lot in high school. But when I got to college the studio art department was in the grips of worshiping abstract and conceptual art. Especially in artist's statements. <br />
<br />
"Carlson, paint what you feel!"<br />
Me, "I'm a freshman, I don't know what I feel. Can't I paint what I see?"<br />
<br />
They thought they could quickly turn us 18-year-olds into Pollocks just by skipping the whole old fashioned training in anatomy, perspective, and color theory. Talent trumped technique.<br />
<br />
They didn't much like realism. They sneered at illustration. The word "cute"was the worst insult. Sigh. So I became an English/Art History major. And turns out life is funny that way, discovered how much I liked writing and reading poetry. And kept reading children's books and cartoons.Claudia Carlsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14790701472190156784noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7122929901650529520.post-14809533309422492962013-05-31T23:44:00.001-04:002013-06-28T08:03:24.886-04:00Rewriting against the clockMy second book of poetry (<i>Pocket Park</i>) will be coming out this Fall, but thanks to sequesters and unknowable seethings in the Library of Congress, my library data is held up. This offers the self doubting poet an excuse to revisit the entire book looking for awkward verbs, sad near rhymes, and potentially horrifying verbal gaffes on a par with my recent sartorial mishaps (the navy blue and black sock debacle on Tuesday). And in my deepest soul I wish I had written the deeper, funnier, more astonishing and intelligent book I envisioned at the start. But this is the truth of it, like watercolor, once the paint of a poem dries, it looses some gloss and movement. Unless you're effing brilliant like Plath but god knows I don't want her self-imposed deadline. <br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5D-GOnaNB-tWDMpTJxsaXRtVRvdun53IEdxnmQr2gVUQCWV0YDbK2H48R16oR8_q9hnjRPU1wHvYazLoF9vmKLn8b1mhKZ7OiBI_qpe76K5eiqnDO5_1LeWrpUYFGZjIC12exPUENrcea/s324/cvr_Carlson_PocketPark_216x324.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5D-GOnaNB-tWDMpTJxsaXRtVRvdun53IEdxnmQr2gVUQCWV0YDbK2H48R16oR8_q9hnjRPU1wHvYazLoF9vmKLn8b1mhKZ7OiBI_qpe76K5eiqnDO5_1LeWrpUYFGZjIC12exPUENrcea/s320/cvr_Carlson_PocketPark_216x324.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
I've been reading many poets on revision. Such great advice. Decided to follow all of it. I've got one poem I'm putting through the paces right now. Made it shorter, expanded it, rhyme, no rhyme, amoeba like, tailored to form, mixed it up...and the poem remained of faint interest, no zing. It needs more of me somehow. Great, how do I extract heart, experience, and vision and make it new? <br />
<br />
I'm sipping a small glass of sherry...Amontillado...and pondering options. Going to sleep sounds good. Getting out from behind the wall of myself sounds better. Hand me some TNT and courage please. Or maybe I need to stop being so pleasing. You must kill the obvious darlings, the poet as her own editor must be fierce. <br />
<br />
Mmmmm, a vintage port would be nice. No poetry readjustment bureau tonight. Tomorrow is Jim's birthday, we plan to go write in a cafe and nibble appetizers. Poem, gird yourself. Deadlines.<br />
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad<br />
<br />
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Location:<a href="http://maps.google.com/maps?q=Couch&z=10">Couch</a></div>
Claudia Carlsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14790701472190156784noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7122929901650529520.post-57855428617820249752013-01-13T13:52:00.001-05:002013-01-13T13:54:39.478-05:00Less is Less Unless it is More Good NewsTHE LESS AND LESS PART<br />
Last week I visited the Utrecht Art store, near where I work, and discovered their big redesign of all their retail outlets meant they dumbed down their offerings. Gone was the large cutting table where I could layout boards and decide how to frame my art. Gone were the useful array of books on art and technique (now down to one woefully inadequate kiosk with a dozen fairly useless titles and not even one book on calligraphy) and the general air of being a place that mattered was gone. I had remembered an energetic knowledgeable staff, dynamic manager, shelves with many good choices of tools, papers, and paints...and discount tables. It is now a sort of E-Z artsy store, akin to the art section in the Micheal's Craft stores. The place was like the cat that had gone to be "fixed" and came back with depleted interests... clearly the digital world is affecting viability of art stores. Will they mostly go the way of bookstores leaving behind just a few small specialty shops catering to real artists?<br />
<br />
Lately I've had a "Potemkin Shelf" feeling at the big Barnes and Noble (Broadway and 82nd Street). As if the books being turned face out were the last in line. There's a subtle thinning of the stock...just what Borders went through in its final months. It makes me sad. Bookstores have been a mecca for my cover design eye and a feast for my insatiable reading heart. And big mega stores just means more walking and looking and browsing—a place where I pleasantly split into two selves in one, my body relaxes into a slowly strolling trance and my mind and eye are darting and diving—reuniting at the end of the checkout line. Luckily I still live in a college neighborhood where print books will last as long as there are students and professors to read or assign them. Also, I thank the graces for the New York Public Library....<br />
<br />
THE GOOD NEWS PART<br />
Yesterday I ran over to <a href="http://www.bookculture.com/">Book Culture</a> and bought a used paperback copy of William Carlos Williams book long poem <a href="http://site.booksite.com/6665/showdetail/?isbn=9780811212984"><i>Patterson</i></a>. I am writing a book of poems about a small urban park—sharing space with my photos. I'm looking for inspiration, other ways of seeing. This tip came from Paul Pines, "one of the best collections of cityscape poetry is by my old friend and mentor <a href="http://www.poetryfoundation.org/bio/paul-blackburn">Paul Blackburn</a> in a book called <i>The Cities,</i> published by Evergreen. I recommend it highly. And in all of his work
Paul had an eye for detail and ear for sounds and speech that was
peerless and informs his work. He was a protege of Williams, whose
classic book <i>Patterson</i> is another great one (both alluding to Lorca in
some way, his <i>Poet in New York</i>). That book by Paul contains his great
good-bye to W.C., "Phone Call to Rutherford," that great moment when
Williams, unable to speak because of his heart attack, says, "...you
have made a record on my heart."" I had looked at passages from <i>Patterson</i> back in college but what a different rich cornucopia it is to me now! Thank you for the leads.<br />
<br />
So this brings me to my news, my book, <i>Pocket Park</i>, will be coming out Fall of 2013 from Marsh Hawk Press!!!!!!! I have 4 months to take the rough manuscript and finish, rewrite, reimagine, and find where I can add or subtract. What are the best city park poems you have read? Let me know, I'm stoking my imagination for the work and play ahead.<br />
<br />
<br />Claudia Carlsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14790701472190156784noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7122929901650529520.post-77972697341676416932012-10-29T17:52:00.002-04:002012-10-29T20:44:43.281-04:00Claudia Carlson, age 18, journal entry May 24, 1975, Brooklyn, NY<style>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 31.5pt;">
This old flesh and it’s hers. I
see how wasted she is. He hair was once so black you could see blue (of
reflected sky?) in it. It is gray now and wispy-sad. Her stomach protrudes like
a pregnant woman’s. An odd melon, the frost of the vine is so thin its sap
retreating. A vine just waiting for the last frost, or is it the first? The
frost that all the farmers wait for, the frost that signals winter killing the
crops. Snow. We used to play in the snow. She was ever so young then, her teeth
and eyes were always wet and so white. And she was tall then with that
marvelous beauty mothers always have. She throws snow at me, I laugh dodging
the crisp wet. Giggling we fall down. All the snow the world, mother it is ours
then, a moment of being. No other words can express it, our day.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 31.5pt;">
Walking, we are walking to the
car? Our little blue English Ford Anglia. I know it is cold out and night for
as we cross the street I feel that brown of the night. But where we are it is
light. I think that light must emanate from the bag of warm peanuts we carry.
They were so good those peanuts. I have never again tasted any so good as
those. Night, holding your hand as we walk to the car after the show. The bag
of warm peanuts.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 31.5pt;">
Today you threw-up when you ate a
pretzel.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 31.5pt;">
When you eat and work you carry
that bewilderment Grandaddy had before he died, when he was so so old.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 31.5pt;">
He would slowly wheeze over to
his chair of 50 years and arthritically drop himself into it. He would be so
lost then. Then he would start to read his <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">New
Yorker</i> but always his eyes shut and his head lolled to the side. His mouth
open (pitiful yellowed teeth) and a small bit of drool would slowly make its
way to his shirt. He would sleep.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 31.5pt;">
Fumbling awake, his eyes lost in
the past, he never could understand what this world now was doing. As time went
on he understood less and less. He began to look like an aged baboon. (He
always called me his “little monkey”) After awhile those bones ceased to live.
My grandfather died and there was no love for him in my heart.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 31.5pt;">
Today I saw how slowly she sat
down. I saw that her body was as old as my grandfathers. She seemed so lost but
I knew there was a difference. She is alive now because her past holds no
hopeful maybes.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 31.5pt;">
Oh lord, how sentimental, it
makes me sick. The nauseous outpouring. It is purge. No art in this pathetic
pity.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 31.5pt;">
I do not cry for you, I cry for
myself watching you.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 31.5pt;">
Soon, if you cannot eat they will
send you to the hospital. You will not leave there until you die.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 31.5pt;">
When you ate your potatoes and
sour cream tonight you hardly seemed aware of the mess of food in and around
your mouth. I was embarrassed. Sin of disdain. I was embarrassed. I hate myself
for that.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 31.5pt;">
When you inquired of me and my
visiting friend Lisa [Lisa Berger] if you looked horrible, I was a traitor. I
gave you the perfunctory answer, “No, no mother, you look fine.” Traitor. I
should carry a sign pronouncing me guilty of nontruth in the face of cancer.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 31.5pt;">
People die ugly. I am not
expected to love the physical that is, I must love that which was. How lucky I
am that her mind is still hers. Or unlucky. She remembers her distrust and lack
of faith in me. I have earned such disappointment.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 31.5pt;">
Why couldn’t I do what I should
have? Why wasn’t I even part of what you wanted me to be? I am your Judas. Your
daughter who does not keep the irritation out of her voice.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 31.5pt;">
I hate you for being sick. How
dare you be dying. Why were you so damn self-destructive? I will die believing
that your 30 years of smoking were your suicide.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 31.5pt;">
You are just as selfish as I am.
But I am young—you have every excuse. I have no right to ask you to die like a
saint. You die as you lived, intensely. Your life seeped with bitterness and a
strange child-like hope. How can I ever explain all your complexities and
simplicity to another person? The brilliancy and faith in the impossible. How
could a mind like yours believe in astrology? Or is it that only your mind
could justify such a thing?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 31.5pt;">
Poor Lisa. I invited her here not
knowing how sick mom had gotten. I think I shall have to send her home again. I
don’t want to make her live through your death agonies. It is not right.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 31.5pt;">
Perhaps you will just keep
fading. I am glad Dad is coming tomorrow.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 31.5pt;">
Tomorrow, later.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 31.5pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 31.5pt;">
-----</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 31.5pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 31.5pt;">
I had a journal I lost in the
fire, that was much more detailed about my life at 18 and the final year of my
mother’s life. I though I’d lost all the writing from that year. Then today, in
one other journal I didn’t know I had, I found the entry above.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 31.5pt;">
My mother went to the hospital a
day later and died. My friend Lisa stayed with me the whole time as I waited at
home, spared that trip and guilty I didn’t go. My grandmother and “Aunt”
Shirley told me my mother essentially drowned, slipped into a coma, and only in
death looked calm. My father and stepmother came and took me to Long Island.
Neighbors broke in and stole anything of value including my mother’s lovely
silver Mexican jewelry. There were three more funerals that spring. Around the
time my mother died, my father’s brother had a heart attack in his sleep and
Dad with the police found him in bed three days later. Awful time.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 31.5pt;">
The only thing I changed was the
spelling, I let spell check fix my mistakes.</div>
Claudia Carlsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14790701472190156784noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7122929901650529520.post-81019387447583760792012-09-23T20:50:00.000-04:002012-09-23T22:36:22.030-04:00Ability to catch a likeness & inherent facial recognitionI read an article in <i>New Scientis</i>t about <a href="http://www.americanscientist.org/science/content1/6758">super-recognizers</a>. People with a freakish ability to recognize faces. Useful in law enforcement, such as matching blurry survalence screencaptures to mug shots or recognizing persons of interest despite their wearing a Mets cap and purple lipstick.<br />
<br />
While I am not a
super-recognizers, I suspect I am closer to the top of that bell curve. When my
husband and I attend events or watch TV I'm constantly recognizing
people and he can't. But he frequently recognizes voices while I rarely
can.<br />
<br />
I've been drawing portraits a long time. I love looking at faces. People, including other artists, will say it must have taken me years of practice to be able to
capture a likeness. I nod in agreement, not wanting to hurt their
feelings, but it just isn't so. Yes, it has taken time to get
comfortable with the materials, such as watercolor, ink, pastels, and
now digital. What I don't tell them is this, I was able to do it the
first time I tried. <br />
<br />
When I was nine years old my mother, at one time a dabbler in art,
sat me down and put a pad of good charcoal paper in my lap and handed me
a stick of charcoal. Up to this point I'd only drawn the usual
princesses and horses with crayons in a style that would be universally
recognized as uninfluenced by observation of reality.<br />
<br />
"Draw me" she said.<br />
<br />
I remember that first portrait so clearly,
gauging the widths and planes, the way some parts of her face seem to
repeat themselves in style—a signature pointiness in ears and nose
wings...what I now think of as fractals of facial development. I am back in our den, in our fine small house in West Hartford, the scratch and slur of my lines echoing my mother's face.<br />
<br />
20 minutes later she demanded to see what I'd done.<br />
She looked startled and then pleased. It looked like her. After that, I got extra art lessons.<br />
<br />
I
don't know if this ability is a genetic gift or oddity of development,
but my father, Elof Carlson, as a young man, before he pursued a career
as a geneticist, was able to draw portraits that also captured a
likeness.<br />
<br />
Unlike the super recognizers I do forget faces and almost always names. I'll walk by someone and get a flash of recognition...if you see me on the street and I'm staring at you while alternately looking off to my left it isn't sleepwalking or lack of meds, I know I know you and cannot approach because your name is a blank. However, your nose or chin will stay with me, until next time then.Claudia Carlsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14790701472190156784noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7122929901650529520.post-19890218970285560302012-09-02T13:20:00.003-04:002012-09-02T14:00:08.459-04:00Reading, poetry self-help column and diversionsSince I've been working too much and creating too little lately, I wanted to inspire myself now that the BIG freelance job is over (sounds of cheering).<br />
<br />
I bought a paperback of Ted Kooser's <i>The Poetry Home Repair Manual</i>. So far, I like it. He explains clearly, based on a lifetime of writing and teaching. For instance Kooser says he may revise a poem up to 40 times "to revise toward clarity and freshness, and I hope that after I have labored over my poems for many hours they look as if they'd been dashed off in a few minutes, the way good watercolor paintings look." More to add when I finish the book.<br />
<br />
I took out Mary Oliver's <i>Rules for the Dance</i> from the library. She covers prosody just perfectly and has a short but lovely collection of older classic poems to illustrate her points.<br />
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And just in case you think I've stopped reading my usual YA fantasy books, here are 3 quick reviews:<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.amazon.com/The-False-Prince-Ascendance-Trilogy/dp/0545284139"><i><b>The False Prince</b></i></a> by Jennifer A. Nielsen: first in a trilogy, a group of orphan boys are secretly trained to impersonate the lost prince. I found it totally engaging, the narrator Sage is clever and mischievous, and faced with awful choices if he wishes to survive, for only one boy can claim the throne. Engrossing, went on a bit too long in spots. The climax no surprise. I'd give this one an A-<br />
<br />
<i><b><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Keeping-Castle-Patrice-Kindl/dp/0670014389/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1346608719&sr=1-1&keywords=kindl+keeping+the+castle"> Keeping the Castle</a> </b></i>by Patrice Kindl. Kindle has kept this fan waiting 10 years for her next book and this is a Jane Austen homage using a <i>Pride and Prejudice</i> meets <i>Emma</i> as an armature. It is funny, lively, and not very true to the historic period, but hey, it is a fine diversion. I loved the first person narrator Althea who must force herself to marry a wealthy man in order to literally keep the roof over her head. She is in fine form when it comes to manipulating her stingy and heartless step-sisters who jealously hold the purse-strings since they inherited all the wealth. At times the 21st century poked through too much, but it was amusing all the way. I laughed out loud. B+<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Cinder-Book-One-Lunar-Chronicles/dp/0312641893/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1346608746&sr=1-1&keywords=Cinder+by+Marissa+Meyer"><i><b>Cinder</b></i></a> by Marissa Meyer. Cyborg Cinderella in a dystopia that faces plague and possible invasion from the nasty folks on the moon. I know it sounds nuts—in a Flash Gordon way—but this is a delightful revamping of the familiar fairy tale. The partially human heroine is a mechanic and must obey the whims of her stepmother in a society that disenfranchises cyborgs (and augmented humans). At times the plot seemed to take too long and some of the secondary characters are under developed. We feel for our plucky self-abasing Cinder. More books to follow and I am hopeful this author will improve, this was fun, original, and I look forward to the next installment. B+Claudia Carlsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12324315965898786565noreply@blogger.com0