А la recherche du temps perdu When I saw how the new sun shone,I opened all the morning to her. When I felt the heat of midday,I turned my face to feel her warmth. When her exit cast a wake of diamonds on the sea,I sailed in pursuit ’til they sank out of view. When… Continue reading In Search of Lost Time | no regrets
These days following the winter feasts bring a quiet with them, not necessarily unwelcome. Often grey and a little lonely, or too-quiet for some, yet there is a gentleness to them that eases the emotional tumult forced by the calendar shift into a new year. When I was younger, I longed for the new year… Continue reading The calm monochrome that follows the feast days
It arrived with that kind of grey rain that settles in for a few days, so you just have to settle with it. I was out all day Sunday and into the night; eight miles of walking in the rain, and when I got home the apartment was clammy like when it rains at a… Continue reading And just like that: Autumn
My brother and Seneca in the ring while I was up at the Farm in July. Summer! It’s been too hot. It’s rained a lot. It’s been busy with work, and (half Fridays notwithstanding) I’ve still not gone on a date with the Atlantic Ocean. Haven’t cycled as much as I’d like. But it’s been… Continue reading Summer hid a whetstone in the slender paths between cornstalks
Montmartre— dans la lumière et l'obscurité These are photos from our first afternoon in Paris. It stayed light til 8:30. Now, you know, I've been dreaming of the trip— now that it's over. As I did before it was born. Friday was two weeks since we left for farther shores. It went by fast and… Continue reading Montmartre— in light and dark
Above: sketch of a suburb— viewed from the spire, as it were. A suburb represents, to me, a place that lacks the most wonderful parts of both cities and wide open spaces*; A pattern imposed; a restrictive one— made to serve its developer's purpose rather than its inhabitants. Sometimes, life feels that way, no? (how… Continue reading how things move altogether too quickly and smoothly once a pattern is imposed
Beyond the Red Oak v6 from Elizabeth Daggar on Vimeo. I haven't had time the past two weeks to get much farther with this, but I'm hoping to get back to it on the weekend. Here's where I left off in my motion tests and atmospheric meanderings.
I stayed home last night; missed several parties, missed toasting with friends who I've not seen enough of. A head cold has been slinking ‘round the door for a few days (probably a few weeks), and by Midnight it'd overtaken me. I didn’t have any the past two winters, but I've been burning candles at… Continue reading Within an hour of waking, the sun has gladdened the windowpanes
I've been on a new trajectory. It’s great; it’s weird, It’s new. I love new. I also love Old. That’s neither here nor there. I’ve been feeling like a teenager again, lately. In the sense where I’m acutely aware how temporary so many people in one’s life tend to be. It’s not a judgement call;… Continue reading When time turns in upon itself, you question everything
In the ellipses between drops of rain In the space between pale night’s end and grey morning I find you. I find forgotten things. Between lines of writing in the pages of books yellowing in drawers and on shelves, In the leathery slips between their bindings— And in the spaces between the notes of songs… Continue reading Spaces
e daggar art: THE MUSEUM 