Nostalgia tastes like toffee. Like butterscotch. Like caramel. And that’s the danger of it. It’s confection. It’s empty calories. All sugar and no substance. The longing for something that isn’t real.
I can't believe it. My first #ttrpg book is nearly done. I remember when it started as "just a 10 page zine" and now it has over 100 pages of content with dozens of illustrations.
So satisfying, I can't wait to start conversation with some publishers to see how far I can take this. @rpg@RPG@ttrpgs#art
Spent all weekend working on a project that failed. Today’s newsletter almost didn’t happen. It’s hasty and haphzard. When it comes to luster, it’s lacking. But…it’s here…
Inside a 250 year old French Violin. Photographed with a Medical Laparoscope adapted to a Lumix G9ii Camera. A 1770 violin by Augustin Chappuy. #music#art#photography
In November while in upstate New York, we took a small afternoon trip to Saratoga Springs, a small, relatively affluent college town near where @seanbala grew up. We made two stops. One was Lyrical Ballad Bookstore. It was an amazing warren of shelves and lots of old books, maps, newspapers, and pictures. Funny thing is that even though he grew up here, this was Sean's first time going!
@seanbala@bookstodon Afterwards, we went to Uncommon Ground, a local coffee shop that makes its own bagels and roasts its own coffee. We got one of the best mochas we've had in a long time and a bagel with some schmear. Worth checking out if you ever visit!
@seanbala read a book while @dohappybelove did some painting. A good afternoon that we needed at that moment.
For those long cold dark nights ... Spirits of the Season: Portraits of the Winter Otherworld written by Dr Bob Curran and illustrated by Andy Paciorek
It’s a fine line between a healthy obsession, and toxicity. Between frustration, drive, spite, desperation, and apathy. Between giving up, falling apart, figuring it out, breaking through, and continually spinning. Relapse, recovery, and sobriety, one or all of the above I’m told comes into play. But, maybe that’s just me...
🎁 Looking for an original present for anybody curious to learn about the fascinating history of chess & its remarkable impact on culture, art, science, education, social advancement, prison reform and more?
FILM PAGE: ideasroadshow.com/chess/
BOOK PAGE: ideasroadshow.com/chessays/
We aim for self-knowledge, to have some level of self-assuredness. A degree of certainty. But is that more of a hindrance than an aid? When we tie ourselves to static identities, what happens when we confront the reality of the way things change? When like everything else we cease to be the same? We are an event rather than a name.
Everything is made of small things. Electrons. Atoms. Nuts. Bolts. Screws. Prayer beads. Everything carries bits of something else. Nothing arrives fully formed. Everything starts as something other, becomes one thing and then another. Shifts. Changes, and then becomes something different yet again.
Somedays we push, and pull, and pry. Most days we blister and ache. We feel the weight of every failed attempt like sediment. Like coarse conglomerate. Immovable granite and bouldering clay. It's heavy. It's hard to carry. It's hard to move, but even a little bit goes a long way...
We "assemble a life from the usable fragments", Lewis Hyde says. Sacred relics of the wreckage, gathered and connected. We experience the world as wholeness when all our pieces have a space.
"On the whole, any painter who really knows his craft recognizes that he is moving in the wrong direction right from the initial sketch." -- from José Saramago's 'Manual of Painting and Calligraphy', trans. Giovanni Pontiero