Head of a Woman Reading

Okay, but why was this movie marketed as just a standard sad gay love story. I was expecting a tedious breakup and languishing sex scenes. I was not expected to be emotionally gutted by a whole slew of existential questions of family, loneliness, and queerness. I decided to see this movie spontaneously and alone on my trip to Amsterdam and when I say that I left that theater gutted, it's an understatement. I was still crying when I walked out and walked back to my hotel in a haze. It was truly a beautiful movie and the fabulist aspects reminded me so much of Céline Sciamma's 2021 film Petite Maman . They would make such a tender and emotionally debilitating double feature.  If you haven't seen the film stop here. Below are spoilers: two parts from the script that I found the most emotionally raw and couldn't stop thinking about. Of course, the way that Andrew Scott and Paul Mescal play these moments is even more heartbreaking, but finding the scenes seemed too hard.  Ju...

During my visit to Amsterdam, I made the obligatory trip to the Van Gogh museum. The museum itself was really well done, but the sheer number of people made for an interesting experience with the art. Between those with the audio tour always seeming to stand in the wrong place and tour groups for children making me feel like I was always standing in the wrong place, it was honestly difficult to really appreciate or experience the artwork. So much of the exhibit narrative was about Van Gogh's ability to inhabit and communicate such strong emotions and intense feelings, but surrounded by people snapping photos and chatting, it was hard to tap into the emotional level. Don't get me wrong, I am so glad that so many people are excited about art and that his work is on display in this way. I was also there snapping photos. But I did notice that instead of strong reactions to specific paintings, I found myself musing on Van Gogh's artistic practice and life and philosophy on art...

 A recent post from one of my favorite substacks (go check out Anne Boyd Rioux's Audacious Women, Creative Lives ), asked readers to comment on something that's been bringing them joy lately. My joy right now is flowers on flowers on flowers. I've managed to visit botanical gardens in four different cities in the past month or so: Cologne, Frankfurt, Berlin, and Amsterdam. And just today, a couple friends took me to a semi secret street in Mainz, Ritterstraße, that is lined with the most beautiful pink and white cherry blossoms.                              Growing up in Florida, I had a particularly fantastical world of nature--alligator eyes in the swamp, catching lizards in the leaves, creeks full of blood red tannins--but what we didn't have were well-defined seasons. Perhaps an eternally green summer has its pros, but there's something about the change of seasons that serves as a reminder of the ephemer...