I’m fully engaged in press submission right now- preflighting, cycling reading copies (just a few at a time, so that I can integrate comments and suggestions I like before passing the mansucript to the next reader) and checking images. I have well over a thousand images, most of which I’ve photographed myself, and almost 600 pages of text between the two books and the extras I’m doing with them. It’s pretty intense.
I love the work, though, and I’m really happy with the way things are going. I have just over a week left before they slam the press doors shut on me; I will use the time as well as I know how.
And I’m not forgetting to take breaks. Each day I have an adventure. Yesterday, I walked almost the entire stretch of the South Side beaches. Many many miles. I swam in the cool water, I lay on the sand, marveled at the lack of other humans, at how useless the #10 bus is, at how lovely the huge sky is here (who knew that huge sky was available in a major East Coast City?) and then walked from downtown to meet Evan for a little French supper on the street in the South End. Boston is the most walkable city imaginable; everything is in about a three-mile circle, and most of it has great train and bus coverage. I love it more here every day.
The day before that, Ryan, Kellner, Evan and I went to the Museum of Fine Art, on Huntington. I loathed the building (a pretentious pile, taking up massive amounts of space, with lots of dead ends and rooms within rooms, easy to miss) but I loved the art. I saw a Van Gogh that I didn’t even know existed, I saw a Turner that shattered my senses with light. I saw a Calder mobile, a Cezanne that stopped me for ten minutes, a Manet that delighted me to the core; the first painting of one of his long-term models.
We also went over to the Cloud Club so Kellner could see it. Construction was in full swing; the place was magnificent, musty, in chaos. Michael Pope was in town. Pope is always a highlight for me; add him to whatever and I like it better.
Above, Michael. Below, Ryan and Kellner, in the garden.
Brad, a new Cloud Club resident, arrived with mad electrical skilz and they are rewiring the old place, much to Lee’s joy. I think everyone with old houses worries about their old wiring catching fire. I know we think about it in St. Louis, where our antique English cottage is insulated with newspaper and straw. It’s a challenge to replace wiring buried in walls, but a worthy one.
Today must announce itself with intention; for the first part of it, I work.