Jonathan Carroll's Blog, page 67

CarrollBlog 12.11

Art is often best when it is unintended. A masterfully simple Biedermeier desk, the futuristic Parker 51 fountain pen, Bauhaus woven cloth, Japanese wabi sabi objects, Dieter Rams' appliances for BRAUN, or the Gill Sans type font, things like these were expressly conceived to be used every day and not live out their years in a museum. But they were so exceptional or singular that over time they rode the elevator up to art's top floor and stayed there. So too with photography. Whether it be...

CarrollBlog 12.10

Decades ago when I had him as a student he was all long hair-angry--fuck the system, Che Guevara t-shirts, a very good guitarist in a band, sunglasses on in class, smartass remarks about everything... that kind of kid. But we always got along fine and I liked him. Vienna is small so over the years we've run into each other now and then. Today I saw a man walking down the street toward me in a conservative blue suit, white shirt, black tie, briefcase, very short haircut. I glanced at him but t...

CarrollBlog 12.9

There are certain words that usually make me cringe when I hear or read them. One of those words is "deserved." I once read a profile of a photographer who was very famous in the 1970's and 80's. At the peak of his success he ruined everything by taking drugs. But eventually he got hold of himself, cleaned up, and went back to photography. The profile was written because he was having his first major show in years. The line I vividly remember him saying was, "I deserve the acclaim I'm...

CarrollBlog 12.8

One day in the English office some teachers were sitting around discussing the different ways we taught TS Eliot's great poem, THE LOVE SONG OF J. ALFRED PRUFROCK. Halfway through our rambling interesting conversation, another colleague came in to the room. After listening for a while she said our approaches were wrong because THIS is what the poem is about and the only thing you need to do is convey that concept interestingly to students. I said to the woman you sound like a fascist-...

CarrollBlog 12.7

He was winter to her. Whenever she thought of their relationship everything was framed in winter-- hot drinks, heavy sweaters, their breaths white together on the frigid air when they took their walks. They had been together in the summer too, but he wasn't summer to her. He was always winter. It made her think we assign people-- lovers especially-- seasons in our minds. She told a girlfriend this and the other gushed back immediately, "Yes! I know exactly what you mean. I've been married so ...

CarrollBlog 12.6

In the Nike shop, they're selling "limited edition" replicas of famous soccer team jerseys. 100 euro for a rayon shirt in a snazzy box. We live in the era of limited editions, whether it be soccer jerseys, sneakers, cell phones, cars, Coca Cola bottles, mp3 players... You name it. I've been thinking about what that means but I can't figure it out. Is it because everyone wants to be individual, special, and by owning a limited edition that makes you separate from the rest of the pack? Or is...

CarrollBlog 12.5

Isn't it interesting how many of us will spend a lot of money on clothes (or for that matter, other valued possessions) we rarely use-- that beautiful cocktail dress or sharp looking shirt. But in our every day, we much prefer to wear clothes that are years old, beat up, and probably cost little when we bought them. Yes, the comfort factor plays heavily into this, but recently when I came home wearing a very nice suit and tie and couldn't WAIT to tear them off and change into some old jeans a...

CarrollBlog 12.4

It's pretty hard to improve on the wonderfulness of a ripping summer thunderstorm, but last September I witnessed an example. The storm came in quickly although you knew about fifteen minutes before it hit that those galloping dark clouds would have something loud to say when they arrived. I was working at my desk when the storm broke and the only reason I looked up was because open windows started flapping in the wind. Then came the screams. Before standing up I listened carefully a few...

CarrollBlog 12.3

What the Dark-Eyed Angel Knows

by Eleanor Lerman

A man is begging on his knees in the subway. Six-thirty

in the morning and already we are being presented with

moral choices as we rocket along the old rails, through the

old tunnels between Queens and Manhattan. Soon angels

will come crashing through the ceiling, wailing in the voices

of the castrati: Won't you give this pauper bread or money?

And a monster hurricane is coming: we all heard about it

on the radio at dawn. By nightfall...

CarrollBlog 12.2

I read a wonderful long interview with Thomas Keller, who many consider the greatest chef in the world. Below is an excerpt where he talks about mastering the art of cooking. Halfway through reading the passage I realized everything he was saying could easily apply to almost any job in life, including writing.

Repetition is the mother of perfection. If there is true perfection, it's about doing something over and over again. I truly think that if somebody does a recipe they've never done...