Original Her/Me Page. Removed 2/2017
I lived in a small Georgia town. I wanted to be Wonder Woman, then I wanted to be an opera singer, and then I wanted to be a geneticist so I could make myself a winged horse. I could not could not believe I could not have one. A real one. I collected them, in plastic, resin, china, and glass.
By chance, I read Wallace Stevens' poem "thirteen ways of looking at a blackbird." It was sudden a cold wind blowing open a door. I wanted to write things like that and so, I would write poems. I was fifteen.
Six years later writing my college thesis on Gödel's incompleteness theorems simultaneously with my first one-act play. The poetic play was about a woman choosing between her rational, mathematical husband and her young, artistic lover. Amusingly, remarkably, I had no idea that I was dramatizing myself, inside. I was a math major deciding what to do with my life.
My life. Hello I live it now. This is my life.
I live in Brooklyn, NY and in a small cottage by a river in New York State.
I studied Roy Hart voice work for many years,
I continue to dream and to study and to make.
Browse this site there are many art projects documented, or in actual existence, here.
Very recentlyi went on a little trip to Ithaca (I will not tell you which one so you will think not of known-places, but of odyssey) and there I found an illustrated second-hand copy of Nathaniel Hawthorne's "Pegasus". I brought this book home to my little river house and read it on a very big birthday.
It made me cry.
Pegasus, unmastered and unmated, swift pounder-of-earth granted wings, still it is you I love.--L
Early ABOUT ME Notes Never Published
I grow many plants.
I make an ok croissant
I like teacups with roses on them. curtains, dresses, and tablecloths too.
In my garden there are not many roses because I try to focus on native plants. I want to live in the middle of my natural ecosystem...to support it as everywhere else it erodes away.
I like wearing red and pink at the same time.
When I was a little girl I would scheme all night about what I would need to do to make a winged horse. I thought I would be a molecular biologist so I could engineer one.
In school I studied math and writing.
Then I made theater.
Then I moved to New York. I studied Roy Hart voice work and other things.
It is hard to make things in New York.
As I get older I know I have only so much energy and I want to use it making things.
So I make them and hope you will find them and like them. I don't have time to worry about all that. I feel happier moving on to make the next thing rather than promoting the thing I already made.
The thing I just made isn't very interesting to me.
The thing I am about to make is stupendously fascinating.
A few years ago I went to Ithaca. Ithaca is the journeyman's home. In the bookstore there I bought a children's book illustrating Nathanial Hawthorne's tale of Pegasus. It made me cry.
I am the winged horse.
I am the lioness.
And an owl.
My imaginary friend is an odalisque who lives in an obelisk. She has a blog it is here.
Work that has mattered to me in chronological order (perpetual references):
Dare Wright, The Lonely Doll
Thomas Jefferson's Monticello
Wagner's Ring Cycle
Alexandra Stoddard, The Book of Color
Tolkeinn, you know
Stevens, "Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blackbird"
Richard Wilbur, "The Writer"
Kandinsky, the first abstract painting I knew how to love.
Peter Gabriel's Passion
Any Greek ruin anywhere. Santorini.
The remnants of Frank Lloyd Wright's Imperial Hotel
Eliot's Ash Wednesday
Yeats, as a whole there is no one thing.
Fefu and her Friends (Fornes), The Woods (Mamet), Death and the Horseman (Soyinka), Night (Pinter)
Pinter, Beckett, Maaterlinck
VIRGINIA WOOLF TO THE LIGHTHOUSE
Jekyll Island, Georgia
Klee, Runner at the Goal & Twittering Machine and An Angel Brings a small Breakfast
The Orangerie at Kew Gardens
Peter Brook, The Empty Space ("I can take any empty space and make it a stage")
Vanya on 42nd Street
The Book of Tea
Bartok's, Bluebeard's Castle, Prokofiev's piano concertoes and flute sonata!, Beethoven String Quartets & Symphony #7
Dah Teater, The End of Time
The Two Character Play, dear Tennessee
Roy Hart Voice
Elliot's Four Quartets
Surrealism, Dorothea Tanning and her interior birthday with opening and closing doors
James Hillman, The Blue Fire
Odin Teatret's Chaos
Bloomsbury, Vita Sackville-West
Manet still-lives, v/s Fantin-la-Tour
Camille Paglia, Sexual Personae
Japanese & Chinese Poetry translated by Kenneth Rexroth
David Bowie, Jimi Hendrix, Beck
Sappho via Anne Carson
The Book of Time
The American desert
Native American mythology (non-linear narrative structure)
Saratoga Springs as it was and is, preferably in the off-season
Any production of Godot, even the bad ones.
Carl Sagan's Cosmos
Keats Ode to the West Wind
Catalogs of ferns and interior plants
Some things made [from words]:
- a tea party for voice and debris,
- a power-point presentation about the abyss,
- 3 plays for me, my roommate, a chair, and the empty house we lived in,
- a play with static pools of light through which I moved as Medea,
- a sea-struck cabaret of wrecked sea-shanties for a washed-up she-fish in lucite shoes.
- a play about standing at the top of the empire state building for myself and an empty bottle, both us stuck in a single spot of light,
- a web-scrollable poem about Andromeda, chained to her rock.
- monologues. poems. scripts. postcards. collage. croissants. strawberry tarts. terrariums. a garden. radio poems. teatime, daily. unholy reams of chicken-scratched trash -- paper, loose and bound in books (red, marbled, some, yes, with greek-keyed pegasus soy-inked on front)
- dreams dreams dreams. a windchime to be repaired. The black snake who is also a dragon shuddering across the lawn. a screeching fury who wants out of the playroom. a house whose basement is the sea and all the ways a girl travels in water...on scooters and motorcycles. There is a crumbling stone retaining wall behind it well-built wood. Why, I wonder, am I afraid of it falling? There is a boy who comes and comes again and a white city, rapturous and Saarinen-like, stained glass under swirling snow. There are entire theaters to watch. And unwritten books, cover-to-cover, I read.