A Very Rappy Thanksgiving

After Thanksgiving dinner my little cousin introduced the family to AutoRap, an app that takes anything you say and makes it into a top 40 hit (seriously, it almost could). It was the perfect thing to get past the tryptophan. The little ones were super cute, I sounded like Iggy Azalea, my jazzy uncle threw down with some baritone "Hello Big Bopper" (CLASSIC), and my mom spit a verse from "Stopping by the Woods on a Snowy Evening." It was so good it was stuck in my head for 3 days.

Those same cousins listened to the Hamilton soundtrack for hours on the drive up to Maine. This led us to watch Lin-Manual Miranda freestyle battle rap Black Thought from the Roots on Jimmy Fallon over Black Friday breakfast. Only watch if you want to see an electrifying display of genius-ness.

Coincidentally that night was our annual dinner concert, put on by various members of the family. It's usually a few jazz numbers, maybe a few Beatles songs, and lately the kids have performed a few numbers as well. My AutoRap little cousin was preparing an original rap over an instrumental, and told me he could be in his crew. I was honored, and pumped given all the hip-hop stimuli, but my toddler toddled off to another room and I had to leave the rap "studio" jam sesh.

But armed with iPhone Notes, I was off to the races. Maybe it was the liberal bubble, maybe it was the love of family and the exuberance of the kids, but I started telling everyone I was going to rap at the concert. And I did. And it was so fun. I had red cheeks and tears in my eyes at the end. 

When I was 18, the apple of my eye asked me if I'd be his Robert Hunter. Hunter was the official lyricist for the Grateful Dead. This invitation was a blessed outside confirmation of both my deep love of music and my way with words. I was very flattered by the offer but never felt I knew how to write a song. It went nowhere. He's dead now. Not Robert Hunter. My friend.

I'm turning 35 this week. It's taken me as long to discover that figuring-out-how is a great stopper of things. It's better to just do, without worrying whether your output will be right, good, or perfect. Save judgement for after it's done, if you ever get that far. Donald Trump is our new president. I'm going to die one day. You are too. There's an opiate epidemic out there claiming people. There's global warming. Syria. What are you going to do? 

Remove your stoppers. Pierce through the blockage. Creation is an anecdote. It causes movement, makes openings. Pathways to other places.

So here's my acapella rap. Next up, beats. Imma let it flow.

Hamilton, The Sequel

Stella's got this Hamilton-
non-fiction-
Rapping play on replay.
Michelle Obama,
Music Drama,
And it's on All day...

But we all got that upset-
Trump threat,
PTS - D OD.
It's liberal hell-
Can Lin-Manuel
Take all of this
pain away? ...

He said we got 

this one shot-

One shot!

Yes we got 

this one shot-

One shot!

So we gonna

be like Steph Curry
in a hurry-
Melo be that ball hog-
Those Trump loners,
Selfish soldiers,
won't in it for the long haul...

We got 4 years:
grinding gears-
bake sales, epic fails,
Eric Garner, Trayvon Martin,
mass shooting, Portland's looting.
Black lives matter,
so do I, 

you do too-
White silence
causes violence-
Get up now,
I mean you.
...

Are we gonna stay here?
Drinking pour over?
While the fly overs
Are playing Red Rover?
No! -- 
We be those rabble-rousers,
Fist-shakers,
Trouble-causers, bubble poppers.

Revelation? Revolution!
It's a Pant Suit Nation
Declaration 

of Dependence upon
Common Sense--
Yes!!

Stronger
together?
There's still time-
Si se puede

Don't be shy.

Is this land your land?
Or my land?
His land?
Or their land? --
It's our land.
Don't forget it, regret it,
alphabet it--
From Z to A, and A to Z,
Bangor, Brooklyn and Jersey.
From The Golden Gate 

to the Tappan Zee.
We build bridges-
And democracy.
Yes it's our land-
from to sea to sea to shining sea-
To little you, 

to little me
Just sitting there, 

in your seat...

It's just a little hip- hop-
Some say-
But they be wrong-
ALL Day!
Cuz we all know
That words matter.
The pen shatters
the sword-
Paper smothers the rock-
A bill could kill the glock!

Can't talk dirty to me--
Throw my name in the gutter-
I'll kill a fool
Like a hot knife through butter.
I write the rules,
The rhymes, 

And the blues.
I'm standing here,
With no microphone,
Just a pen a paper-
Check that -an iPhone-
To say this ain't a house-
It's a light green home.*

We're here to stay,
And I'm here to say-
That I'm the D A double-L A S
Live on West Broadway--

Hey!!!!

*My uncle just got Midnight Green shutters, and is really excited about how they bring out the light green color of his house. This was my favorite part of the rap.

Frankie's Institute

Last week we went on a girls-only overnight trip to Philadelphia to visit the Franklin Institute in honor of my niece's 13th birthday. The big show stopping exhibit was The Art of the Brick, Lego artwork by Nathan Sawaya (an NYU graduate). For some reason I expected everything to be made out of legos -- the floor, the walls, the lights. Instead it was recreations of classic artwork and original lego sculptures. It was pretty cool, but when you are expecting a Lego house, it was slightly underwhelming.

It also had the effect of reminding me how much I love art museums. My favorite part about visiting the Franklin Institute with my mom, nieces (ages 16, 13, 7), and daughter was seeing how much the kids enjoyed all the interactive exhibits. Art museums don't always translate to a younger audience (no touching!). Still, next time we go back to Philly I plan on finally visiting the Art Museum or the Barnes Foundation. We can take the Pip for a lollipop and carousel ride after. 

Fine Films

These days I find there are an appalling number of bad movies just waiting to steal two hours from my life. Don't you feel the same way? I could easily go on a horsemen-of-the-apocalypse/fall-of-the-Roman-Empire tirade about what that means for our culture, but I'll spare you.

In the past month, however, I've seen a handful of fine films, and I want to tell you about them in hopes that you'll watch them, love them, and talk to me about them the next time I see you* so we can get riled up about how a good movie at the end of a long week is like the sprinkles on an ice cream cone. 

Heartburn
A classic I never saw until last month, while the wee one napped and I wrapped presents. Meryl Streep and Jack Nicholson star in this adaptation of Nora Ephron's ripped-from-the-headlines-of-her-own-life novel. I got The Most of Nora Ephron for Christmas and I'm loving every page of it. What a woman. Available to stream on Netflix.

Broken English

Parker Posey and a French guy with eyes like saucers. New York and Paris. Neurotic love. I watched this late at night while (still) wrapping presents, and it was perfect. When it was over, I wanted to play it again. Too bad it was 2am. Available to stream on Netflix.

I Do

Charlotte Gainsbourg. Listening to French people speak French. A romantic comedy in the truest sense: funny, tender, and slightly surreal. Available to stream on Netflix.

The Best Offer
This is a new movie but we watched it from the comfort of our couch while the snow fell. Geoffrey Rush stars as a fine art auctioneer on the scale of Christie's. The world this movie depicts is captivating: gorgeous white penthouse apartments and dilapidated grand villas filled with works from old masters. Just to watch it is a delight. But the mysterious love story that unfolds is just as enchanting. Geoffrey Rush is fantastic, as always. A new movie I loved loved loved. Available On Demand and in theaters. 

Before Midnight
The third movie in a trilogy about a couple played by Julie Delpy and Ethan Hawke. You should probably watch the first two before you watch this one, so you feel fully invested in their story, but I don't think it's necessary. You might actually lose interest before you get to the last installment, which would be a mistake. I watched this movie on a plane a few months ago, and I think about it often. The final scene between the two leads is the best depiction of the guts of a marriage I have ever seen on film. Ethan Hawke's character gets on your every last nerve, then redeems himself entirely in the final monologue. True art. Available on Netflix DVD and possibly On Demand. 

*Or we can just talk over the internet.

Brotherly Love

Check out this amazing watercolor my brother painted and gave to us for our sixth wedding anniversary. He is a visionary architect and has recently taken up watercolors as a new medium to express his creativity. Acquiring my favorite of his pieces prompted me to entirely shift the display of art in our whole house.

It's pretty much the first thing you see in our house upon entry.

Please note the surfboards that I painted my other brother in the early 90s. It is the only thing that survived from everything I made during art lessons. I'm glad sentimentality kept someone from throwing it out, and that my dad thought to bring it to my house when he cleaned out the garage. I'd be willing to give it back, but only if asked really nicely.

Rounding out the new vignette are some floral prints I've found antiquing, a print of a woman with cropped hair laying in a field next to a basket of blueberries that used to be my Grammy's, a Chagall I cropped from a calendar collection, and an original painting of a Paris street scene by our now deceased family friend and B-movie star Norma Eberhardt Dauphin. We have three of Norma's pieces in Baby SevPrez's room and they are unbelievably awesome.

There's nothing like original art in your home.

Did I Forget To Tell You I Met My Idol?!

In February I ran into Maira Kalman first thing in the morning on my way into work. It was magical. At my mom's urging I wrote her a note, and I want to share it with you.
Hi Maira-

I ran into you recently one morning at the elevator at 611 Broadway. I was on my way to work and recognized you and your orange hat. You were very sweet and shook my hand. I called off the Annual February Misery Day Parade for the day and immediately called my mom to tell her about it.

I couldn't resist writing you a note because your work resonates with me so much that I find myself hoping that meeting you was some sort of magical incident -- that you are my white rabbit.

Your work makes my heart leap. It is gorgeous and arresting and and makes me feel things. It also awakens a possibility I put to sleep a long time ago because I thought it was too impractical. I wanted to be Picasso when I was eight years old, just like I wanted to be a New York Knick. In the zero-gravity space inside my head, it was definitely going to happen. I was going to be a great artist unbothered by offices and desk jobs and mundane concerns.

But I ran into you because I was on my way to work in an office, at a truly excellent, world-renowned company that churns out awesome, inspiring nuggets of wisdom on smart looking cards and gifts. I have worked here for 10 years, since college, when I started out stuffing envelops because I wanted to be a part of the organization in any way possible. My position, which was created for me, has blossomed over time and really, I think I have a job that most people dream about. I'm the lady who picks the quotes. And really, it is great, it is about the best desk job a girl could ever ask for. But it's not Picasso -- or, in my present day parlance -- Maira Kalman.

I feel a bit foolish and embarrassed writing all this to you. Shouldn't I just be out there doing it!? What am I waiting for? I am, after all, the creator of follow-your-dreams paraphernalia. But I'm scared of letting go of what I have for something unknown. I suppose this letter is somewhere between a very, very earnest piece of fan mail and a message in a bottle. Thank you for reading it, and for being where you were in the world the other day. It was delightful meeting you.

Truly,
Mrs. SevPrez

Inspired By...

...their honesty, creativity, ingenuity, courage to live and work outside the mainstream.


I get really into stuff, and sometimes I think the people in my life tire of my unsolicited, overly enthusiastic, proselytizing emails. And then I remember, that's why I have a blog.


Chuck Close, painter. 

The guy went paralyzed half way through his career, which forced him to come up with new ways to physically paint, resulting in (I think) his best work. Unbelievable. I saw a documentary about him on PBS when I was in college and have loved him ever since. His studio is only a couple blocks away from my office, and one day I walked by him sitting outside. I walked around the corner and spent about 5 minutes facing a brickwall trying to convince myself to go back and talk to him. When I finally worked up the courage he had gone back inside. I'll get him next time.

Mindy Kaling, writer. 

She kills me. It's like she has a portal to my brain and knows my innermost thoughts.

I think a lot of women my age feel the same way, but I still feel special.

John Cage, composer, artist, all around amazing guy. 

He is so much more than the guy who composed a piece of silent music. He was a contemporary of Buckminster Fuller, Merce Cunningham, and that whole crew of crazy forward thinking guys. Joyful Zen is what I take away from him. 

Pablo Picasso, painter.

You know who he is. I am not cool for loving him. I wrote an essay about my early obsession with him -- maybe one day i'll share it on the blog in serial form. I wrote it to submit to This American Life until one of their old producers told me it wasn't universal enough. I freely admit that ever since that experience my love of TAL has dimmed. But I think it just happened to coincide with my love for it burning too brightly: it could not be sustained. Now I tend to find their unassuming, casual narration style somewhat rote and grating. But who am I kidding, I still listen.

Marc Maron, comic & podcaster.

The only way I survive my commute is by listening to podcasts which pre-maternity leave had been limited to shows that air on NPR; the only way I survived the last 3 weeks of my pregnancy was by discovering Kevin Pollack's Chat Show on iTunes. Because I could not listen to Terry Gross or the Planet Money team talk about economic doom while my whole life was all about bringing a human being into the world. So I took hour long walks around my neighborhood once or twice a day and amused myself by listening to Kevin's long form interviews with actors. It was fluffy and funny. Only a week or two ago did I finally download some of Marc Maron's WTF podcasts -- long form interviews with comics, writers, and actors. It was kind of like graduating from high school (KPCS) and going to college where everyone smokes cigarettes and talks philosophy. But it's still funny. In fact it's about ten times funnier, so I've turned into the girl who walks around Port Authority grinning inexplicably. And I like that. Marc Maron, I think I love you.

E.E. Cummings, poet.

Yeah, everybody loves his cute punctuation, his love poems, blah blah blah, but until you read "i: six non-lectures" you have no idea what a mindblowingly compelling thinker he was. There is so much more to him than writing in all lowercase. The book may have taken me about a decade to read and understand cover to cover, but it is the most special book I own, and it was passed down from my mother. And it goes without saying that "if there are any heavens my mother will(all by herself)have one."

Pema Chodron, Buddhist monk.

I was first introduced to her work through Stephanie, my amazing old yoga teacher in Brooklyn. One time she read a passage from her book in class and I started crying. That yoga really can really sneak up on you sometimes. I always turn to her books "When Things Fall Apart" and "Start Where You Are" when things fall apart, which they inevitably do every couple years. You don't have to be a meditating Buddhist to take away some real pearls of wisdom.

Maira Kalman, illustrator.

You knew this already. 

Uncle Jim, my mom's brother.

My love and respect for him has been chronicled on this blog before. He is half of the dynamic duo we are always going to Maine to see. Let's be honest: we love the state of Maine, but we really love our relatives who live there. Otherwise all those evergreens could start to look the same.

Making A Pilgrimage To Maira

Crappy photos illicitly taken with my iPhone while trying to look like I was checking my email.

I was pleased as punch to discover that Maira Kalman: Various Illuminations (of a Crazy World) was coming to The Jewish Museum in New York, having missed it by just hours when it was in Philadelphia last fall. My mom and I went for our annual Summer Day of Fun on Friday afternoon. For me, it was like snuggling up on the couch with the cats and a good book -- totally comfortable and reassuring. I have most of her books, and even purchased the companion book to the exhibition last year to console myself for missing it, so there wasn't much newness to be discovered. Nonetheless I really enjoyed seeing her originals, and being in a space carefully curated by the hands of Maira. And I really enjoyed hearing the sound of my mother's giggles from across the gallery as she watch Maira's TED talk with headphones on. 


I could go on and on and on about Maira's wit, wisdom, and talent, or my feeling of spiritual connection to her, or my profound admiration for the fact that she has made such an accomplished career for herself by plumbing the depths of herself and her life, but I won't, I don't have it in me today. It's too much to put into words. I would say just check out her work for yourself and you'll understand. 

A horizon of Maira. 

There were a several other great exhibits going on at the museum but we were unable to see them before the museum closed (at 4:45 on Friday, for the Sabbath). I suppose we had spent too long luxuriating over lunch and lemonade at Sarabeth's.  For the record, Sarabeth's is exactly the kind of restaurant I would have if I ever had a restaurant: brunch food and baked goods all day. I would eat breakfast for every meal if it was nutritiously acceptable, and I have always been this way. A few years ago I ran into my high school sweetheart after many years of radio silence, and as we were catching up he asked "Do you still love pancakes?" I suppose I do, I just hadn't realized quite how much it made an impression on others. 


After picking up some things at the gift shop, I made the executive decision that under no circumstances should we take the 6 train downtown and make the horrible transfer to the E at 51st Street. It was a nice day (after several days of sweltering weather and thunderstorms), so we dared cross Central Park in hopes that we would come out on the other side and take the A/C/E directly to Penn Station. I use dramatic language to describe this decision because, well, have you ever tried to cross Central Park in a straight line? It's not really designed to be transversed on foot in this way, so it took some extreme diligence on our part. We consulted a lot of maps, and finally, when leaving Belvedere Castle and having to decide which way to take through The Ramble, I busted out the GPS on my iPhone. After all, my mother was wearing wedges and I am extremely pregnant. I could not stand the idea of us walking far out of our way. But what do you know -- we made it from the Jewish Museum to the Museum of Natural History in record time (not counting our respite at the Turtle Pond, where mom read Maira's newest children's book, Thirteen Words, and I took pictures of all the turtles in the pond). Once we popped out on the West side of the park, I made another executive decision that I was done with the smelly, crowded subway for the week, so I raised my right arm, stuck my belly out, and hailed us a cab to Penn Station. 

Mom reads to the turtles.

All in all it was another wonderful Summer Day of Fun for the books. Mom got off the train with me and Mr. SevPrez picked us up at the station so Mom could come back and get a tour of our new house -- well, our newly beautiful house with new hardwood floors. Photos to come!

Ye Olde Art Box

Some of these items have been with me since elementary school.

This weekend the paints came out, the first time since last winter if I'm being honest. I've decided paint, or gouache on paper specifically, is not my best medium. Whaddya know, I'm not the next Maira Kalman. Maybe trying it more than once a year would help. Still, I had fun once I lowered my expectations.


Since I have a thing for still-lifes, I painted butter. 

The butter actually looks pretty life like in photos!

While the first layer of yellow was drying, I painted the half of my gargantuan piece of coffee cake that I had yet to eat. It's a pretty abysmal representation. Let's just say I'm proud of myself that I finished it without giving up and eating the rest of the cake.


Last but not least, I made a birthday card for Mr. SevPrez in the style of Anna Bond at Rifle Paper Co. She must have an impressive array of skinny brushes, and a lot of patience.

My main man turns 36 tomorrow.

The Black Apple

Kitten Bandit.

Just ordered two Christmas presents from Emily Martin's Etsy shop The Black Apple. I'm excited because one of them gets to stay in my house!


She does such cool work. Seeing work by artists such as Emily, and Sophie Blackall of Missed Connections fame — who's coming out with a book soon! — is incredibly inspiring to me, but at the same time it makes me think that maybe I should retire my colored pencils. Then I think that if I just worked at my art harder, and spent more time on it, maybe I could really get something going. And open up my own Etsy shop! How cool would that be? I would love to do commisions of other people's favorite objects (since I can't really draw people).


Maybe after this marathon is over I'll turn my attention to the creative side of things. I do have to finish my sketchook by mid-January, yikes!


This is a portrait I would love to get for my sister-in-law, who's birthday it is today, but she lives in South America, and it's not worth sending it in the mail on the 20% chance that it would arrive in tact. Her family used to have an owl named Neruda who loved to perch on her daughter's shoulder. Then the staring contests would commence. It was the cutest/strangest thing ever.

Violaine.

Self Portrait

The ultimate beehive.

Let The Cookie Apprenticeship Begin!

They say when the student is ready, the teacher will appear. Well this afternoon the cookie sensei showed up at my door step with tupperware boxes full of icing kits, "the best royal icing" repice, festive sprinkles and decorations, and cookies of all shapes ready to be iced.

Who is this mysterious cookie master, you wonder? Sweet Dani B, aka my friend Dan, aka Martha Stewart's cookie expert. She has appeared several times on "The Martha Stewart Show," taking Martha and her audience through all the steps to make the most gorgeous and festive cookies in the world. Sitting next to Dan at my kitchen counter, I felt as though I was on the show in the role of Martha. Dan is a great teacher, very warm, natural and fun, which makes for great TV and a great Sunday afternoon.

I still have a lot to learn, but Dan thinks I have a promising future as a cookie apprentice. Between my day job making greeting cards, and this gig moonlighting in cookie icing, I think my life is turning out just as I had always hoped. Lots of fun, creativity, sweetness, and inspiration. As Dan says, "Life is sweet!"

Things I Would Spend Money On If It Was Coming Out Of My Ears...

Just in case there is some rich benefactor looking to grant three wishes, or any of you have some gold doubloons burning a hole in your pocket and share my taste.

1. This utterly amazing small sofa from Wisteria would be the perfect replacement for my black leather Ikea loveseat, which is definitely a placeholder for something more special.

2. Any number of items from Lauren Moffatt's outerwear collection. I was really salivating over this plaid number until I realized that I basically have the same thing in buffalo plaid. Imagine my good fortune!

What can I say, it's been a long hot summer and wool coats are apparently the farthest thing from my mind, until now. But this little schoolgirl cape would be a fine addition to someone's closet. So adorable! I am a fall cheerleader for sure.

3. A Cuisinart Food Processor. My whole life I grew up and it was the only thing my mom ever used to mix anything. For 20 years it was KitchenAid who? Now I am a slave to my gigantic mixer (and won't even take it off the counter because I love it's red-ness) but I'm crushing graham crackers by hand to make tart crusts and splashing tomato bits all over my kitchen with my immersion blender while trying to make gazpacho. Santa, are you listening? The time is nigh.

4. I'd commission portraits of myself and Mr. SevPrez from John Perry. Check out the ones he did for Steve Nash and his family. For some reason I'm completely enamored of this guy. I think it's probably because he's an athlete and an artist, and I find that combination highly desirable. There is nothing better than people who can't be pigeonholed.

Summer Day of Fun 2010

My mother and I have a tradition going back to the mid 90s, the Summer (and Winter, which was added around 2003) Day of Fun, in which mother and daughter come together and take time out from their regularly scheduled lives to do something that they have always been meaning to do, or would do if they led lives of leisure, which they are destined not to because of their genetic makeup. (Mom is busy with exciting work opportunities, museum stewardship, and grammy-ship since she retired; I have a full time job in which I commute to, a personal blog in which to maintain, and a marathon to train for. It's who we are.)


This year Mom met me in midtown Manhattan and we had lunch at Sarabeth's on Central Park South before visiting the American Folk Art Museum. Originally the plan was to go to MoMA to see the Matisse exhibit, but we'd been to MoMA together before, and it promised to be packed. I just happened to read a great piece on the Folk Art Museum in the New Yorker, and had always admired the flag outside their building, so we changed plans. And boy were we glad we did. Here's a photo of part of the line (that went all the way around the block) to get into MoMA, taken from the top floor of the Folk Art Museum, which is right next door.

We saw some truly inspiring things. I'm still not quite sure what folk art is exactly, but I think it amounts to Art-by-artists-who-are-not-Artists, that is people who did not go to school to be artists. They can be artisans, or craftsman, or, in the 20th and 21st centuries, just plain crazy people who are compelled by their imprisonment or mental illness to make art. It's somewhat unclear. But I still enjoyed all the exhibits. 

We saw some stuff by Henry Darger, who was clearly mentally ill and made some disturbing art (which I did not take photos of). Sad thing is, the Henry Dargers of today are probably too overmedicated to make compelling art. 

I was tickled by his filing system for images he clipped out of magazines, coloring books, and other printed material — all clippings he used to teach himself how to illustrate his magnus opus. This file was called "Only Trees Trees Not Bees."


But by far my favorite thing in the place was the Pieties Quilt, made by Maria Cadman Hubbard, aged 79, and completed in 1848.


See for yourselves. 

Besides this amazing quilt, there were also excellent weathervanes, a braided rug made out of Wonder Bread bags, a cafe run by a very nice pastry chef who baked all the goods, and live music. 


If you are ever about to get in line for MoMA, I highly suggest finding respite in the AFAM.