I am sitting at my dining room table, freezing. I have about a million documents open on my desktop, and papers scattered all around me. It is only 7pm, but I am curled up by candles, sipping on Mövenpick deliciousness, and sad to see it get dark, a sign that it is still winter. I am typing, which always makes me colder, and I am thinking about investing in some gloves without fingertips, or making my own "alteration of glove," like in The Royal Tenenbaums.
It is kind of sad that I haven't been blogging regularly. I think I will hit my peak sadness when I return and see I didn't bridge my worlds. This is uncomfortable for me, to have these two worlds, and not understand how to connect them, and ultimately find I have become a square peg that no longer fits into any of the round holes of my life. I will leave here, inevitably, and have to face the moat of the Atlantic head-on. There is a quote I often recall, that says "In the depths of winter I finally learned there is within me an invincible summer." BrainyQuote.com claims it is from Albert Camus. I am trying to reconnect with this invincible summer, a warmth that transcends location and forgives mistakes. I am so cold. Until then, I remain blinded by this hat.
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It is something about my personality, that I see it as a weakness to stop and think, when heck, it is inevitable that we all need to rest at some point. This quarter, I just don't have the drive or energy to run around all over Europe... and that is ok. And it is ok, too, to blog when I haven't gone on some epic journey. So, not in failure but in necessity, I have stopped a bit, trying to catch up with myself.
On last Sunday afternoon, I made a small Germany journey to the Vitra Museum in Weil am Rhein. It is such a small town right on the border. When I see the Gehry building in the middle of a giant field, it somehow gives my heart hope for Napoleon, that we may have a signature architect pop up on County Road X at some point, too. It is a total anomale, really. I wanted to go back to see the George Nelson exhibit, famous for his furniture collaborations with Herman Miller and his clocks with Howard Miller (yep, they are related).
Usually, when I go to a museum, I am just thrilled to be able to recall date, maker, blah-blah, but that day, I was somehow convicted of this "name game" philosophy. Who cares, right, if I know that this is a George Nelson or a Corbusier or Bill? In the end, where does that get me? The real question, is what was their passion? And why did they do it at all, to get them to this deserving, memorable status? And is that legit? I have a newfound respect and love for George Nelson. Yea, I like his coconut chair and the ball clocks (he was the guy to realize that we read time by the position of the hands, and not necessarily from the numbers), but the way he looked at people and process to find a solution is unreal. Usually I bypass the audio booths, just because I think it's boring, but I actually sat down to listen to some lectures that were fantastic. The obvious nerdy designer in me now comes out.
Sidenote: my iTunes just shuffled into the past, by playing "Walking in Memphis" by Marc Cohn. This song makes me think of summer, driving (riding) in the Honda Accord.
Here is a photo of a current Globus display:
I have been having some really wonderful conversations at work recently, about politics and financial things, and just plain life. I love this. I love working at a small firm, really ridiculously small, and enjoying these conversational perks.
Basel is cold. In the past few days, I have seen three other people with larger UGG-like boots. The first week I wore mine, and realized the trend has yet to hit Europe, that I am some sort of poser pioneer, by accident. It will be interesting to see if this trend blooms here.
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