Snowstorm in Bed-Stuy

a throwback to January, when for the first time in my NYC life, the streets felt as wild and inhospitable as the wilderness.

colorado

around our apartment

in beautiful bed-stuy brooklyn.

near hoyt-schermerhorn

in early early spring it is common to be blinded by the dazzling thaw.

my family looks at snow

Wallace Stevens

THE POEMS OF OUR CLIMATE
Wallace Stevens

I
Clear water in a brilliant bowl, 
Pink and white carnations. The light
In the room more like a snowy air, 
Reflecting snow. A newly-fallen snow
At the end of winter when afternoons return.
Pink and white carnations - one desires
So much more than that. The day itself
Is simplified: a bowl of white, 
Cold, a cold porcelain, low and round,
With nothing more than the carnations there.

II
Say even that this complete simplicity
Stripped one of all one's torments, concealed
The evilly compounded, vital I
And made it fresh in a world of white,
A world of clear water, brilliant-edged,
Still one would want more, one would need more,
More than a world of white and snowy scents.

III
There would still remain the never-resting mind,
So that one would want to escape, come back
To what had been so long composed.
The imperfect is our paradise.
Note that, in this bitterness, delight,
Since the imperfect is so hot in us,
Lies in flawed words and stubborn sounds.

wintertime baby

blizzard time, crown heights

this time last year, norway near kongsvinger

 the outdoor kitchen. sissel and bent terje only use it for a few months in the summer, but the dishes and pots and pans stay outside all year.

 this is the cabin where i lived by myself for march, 2013

 my stove

norway from above, march 2013