I made a companion for the hedgehog painting I'd given my sister a few years back. I hope they get along. Wikipedia cites snakes as hedgepig food, though...
Surgery was a month ago. Since then I have been sleeping, writing, painting (a little) and playing with my children. Each child alone is a pleasure, although the two together are baking soda and vinegar. I'm not saying which is which. Finally, Laurent took smallest monkey to France, where smallest monkey will spend a whole month alone with his grandparents, because we all needed a break, including Emile. He might even start maternelle, preschool, there, for a short while. Everyone gets a break, but I miss him like crazy. Starting tomorrow, I will be going to Boston every day for radiation - that's three hours round trip for 15 minutes of being turned into the Hulk. I'm doing it because they will also be giving me more chemo, and I apparently love chemo that much... Every day is hard. It's a mixture of crabby because I might die within the next five years, and blissed out because life is so beautiful, and crying when I hug my family. It's extrem
The Women in Abstraction show at the Centre Pompidou was arbitrary, condescending, and totally worthwhile. I mean, Elle font d'Abstraction is just short of “Look! A woman can make a painting! How quaint!” Still, go. You won't regret it. They more than make up for any condescension... And if they don't, we're clearly hungry for this exhibit. I counted two women in attendance for every man – yes, really, I counted. “The utopian ideals of pure abstraction have allowed women artists some kind of entree into art, since a truly universalist art practice would be genderfree... but it was a myth.” - Mira Schor, 2009, from “Some Notes on Women and Abstraction” On a personal note, I hadn't been expecting to have a night alone in Paris. I certainly hadn't expected to have a good time. I'd always associated Paris with exhausting in laws, arguments, and trying to keep up with fast paced conversations in a new language. But my flight out of Charles De Gaulle was sched
I write because it holds my feet to the fire, making me articulate my thoughts and observations no matter how uncomfortable they make me. I write to find truth and flaws in my thinking, as well as revealing the pain and beauty of my feelings. This does not change with the use of AI tools. Like everyone else, I have been playing with ChatGPT. I took a raw first draft, which had already been called “depressing” by a random reader from a Coursera class, and asked ChatGPT to rewrite it in the style of my blog. The result was probably an improvement. First draft: In the beginning, Hulder Astrid avoided Human Hal. His perfume stank, and his clothes were baggy. Not out of neglect or poverty, but by choice. And yet it wasn't stylish. It wasn't until he made a good dinner that she let herself be tricked into wanting the life he offered. ChatGPT rewrite based on my blog style: At first, Hulder Astrid steered clear of Human Hal, with his pungent scent and ill-fitting clothes. Not out of n
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