Ancient History
I went to the Getty last weekend with my friend Jenna to see the Cy Twombly exhibit before it leaves town (which happens on the 30th! Go if you can!) and when I was there I was struck by a few things. One, The Getty is great. I don’t go enough. I know this is how everyone feels about their big local art museum but it’s true. There’s something very lifting about a lot of people coming from all over the place to gather together and look at art. Even if they’re really just picnicking or taking Instagram pictures or going on Hinge dates. Two, there were quite a few works I’d like to have on my wall, even though at the root of it I believe art should be for everyone (I’d let you come see it!). Three, the frantic, furious energy of Leda and the Swan felt quite literal to that actually quite unpleasant story. Four, I was really drawn to the sculptural works, both Twombly’s collection of relics and his own creations inspired by them. One in particular, Thermopylae, had a reference to the Cavafy poem beside it, a poem which is a pretty concise description of how to be a good person, by the way, which then snagged in my mind because of the Calligarich book I referenced last week, which at one point quotes a Cavafy poem too: “Now that you’ve wasted your life here, in this small corner, / you’ve destroyed it everywhere in the world.” (I know, jeeze.) And then the whole Cavafy completed works was in the gift shop, so of course I bought it. Don’t you love when she does that? (She, in this case, is the universe.) But then I also especially liked this Twombly painting, which reads: “Hang iambics, / this is no time for poetry.” You and me both, Archilochus. I, too, am trying like hell to get out of my head a little!
But before I do: One of you beautiful people asked me in reply to my last/first newsletter how I feel like I’ve changed since I wrote that smoking essay in 2016. It’s a great question, and one that I’ve been thinking about ever since. To abuse the (oft-abused) Hemingway line, it happened two ways: slowly, and then all of a sudden. I was thinking about that while on my way home from the Getty; I saw this loud fast convertible drive by, a youngish couple inside, driving too fast. And I thought of how for so many years what I wanted was that girl in the convertible feeling, which was, I guess, to be chosen, to be worthy, to be good enough by someone impossible’s standards. (Not to be confused with someone’s impossible standards.) For so long I think I wanted someone else to define me, to save me the work of having to do it myself, to prevent my having to make a choice and risk falling short or being wrong. Which works well enough for a while, as people are generally so eager to define you, project all over you, use you as a mirror or a canvas, especially if you’re a young woman. I think I have spent a lot of my life waiting for some thunderclap of a moment in which everything would suddenly make sense and then my real life would start. And it turns out that you can do that for a good long time, until you can’t. Because sooner or later that check comes, and other peoples opinions of who you are never quite add up to the full amount. So in short, I guess what’s different now is that I looked at that car and that couple and what I really want, more than anything, is to drive.
What I’m saying is I don’t have an answer for you yet. Not as such. But I’m working on it. Too weirdly earnest for you? Sorry! Weirdly earnest is all we have on tap at the moment. But should you have come here for some distraction, well! Here are some fabulous things to consume, with your eyes or otherwise:
I have been finding myself increasingly moved by ceramics. Clay and water and heat and hands: alchemy! Total magic. I love Suzanne Sulivan’s, Marian Bull’s , Maggie Boyd’s. There’s just something so frankly pleasing about a funky, chunky mug or little bowl or big wide vase. I’m very touchy feely these days, I guess; I want to hold something and know its there. Speaking of Maggie Boyd, I wish I had been at the printed matter art book fair to buy her book, which apparently began as a tile. I covet it.
Another tactile delight, I really so enjoy Bernie Kaminski’s papier-mâché sculptures of everyday objects.
Something about making Chicken Marbella for a dinner party makes me feel like Nora Ephron, or a Laurie Colwin heroine.* It’s a little retro (the NYT cooking section referred to it as ‘boomer cuisine’ which is frankly rude), a lot delightful, goes great with several different wines, and good crusty bread, both of which I can usually finagle someone else to bring. It makes the whole house smell so good when it’s cooking. And it seems really complicated and truly isn’t. What’s better than that?! The Silver Palate recipe is the OG. Excellent room temp or cold, too. My mother always suggested making it for dinner parties and eating the leftovers the next day for lunch, though since I started making it back at university I have never had the opportunity, it always gets eaten. No notes.
*If you are not familiar with Laurie Colwin, and would like the literary version of a hug, please read Happy all the Time. It is such a very real and true delight: hilarious, endearing, warm. For more good company, in the kitchen and otherwise: Home Cooking. Or really anything else she wrote. You really can’t go wrong.
Quick fire recommendations for the food section: Honey Mama’s (especially Tahini Tangerine and Lavender Rose). There was a while where I was sending everyone I liked the 6-pack mixed box of these like some kind of demented chocolate fairy. But they’re really that good. Best practices are to have a bar (/box of bars…) in your fridge at all times (for emergencies!). Throw a couple out after a dinner with some nice citrus in a bowl and watch the crowd go wild. Fishwife smoked salmon with chili crisp, because somewhere inside we are all hot girls who love tinned fish. Anything they’re serving at Reverence, if you’re in New York, one of my favorite city serious dining experiences. I am a chili crisp addict (it is even—especially?— good on vanilla ice cream, yes, I am serious) and this one is great—and especially light on the bad stuff.
Are you taking care of your hands? Soapply makes the best (gentle, fragrance-free, emollient) hand soap in the game. (I wrote about it and its founder in 2018 for Vogue and have continued to buy it for myself and for friends and family ever since.) And you can set yourself up for a subscription, so you never have to think about it again. Sidia makes a super elegant sink side hand scrub and serum, too, the latter of which is light and non-greasy. Aerin Lauder’s rose hand cream makes me feel very fancy, which I personally find is a nice thing to feel in the bathroom or boudoir. Think about everything your hands do for you. Now what are you doing for them?
Unexpectedly excellent if you have 20 minutes to kill:
And finally, the Twitter account I share the most:
And one more embedded tweet below because, you’ll see why. I guess the moral is: camouflage works until it doesn’t.
Okay. That’s all for now. Thanks for being here. I love you. See you next week.