In an e-mail, Eisenman described her “tenuous relationship to ‘womanhood.’ ” She wrote, “Some feminist writers have made analogies between a woman’s body and a house. Interior, domestic, hospitable, private, decorated. . . . For me, it’s more like being in a rental apartment. Why get invested? Why make a big change? I just don’t care that much. This is an imperfect metaphor, but you get the idea.”
"I can also tell you what not making things feels like: scrolling through Reddit gifs, watching Youtube videos compulsively even though you think they're dumb, Facebook stalking people you barely care about, lying in bed having slept way too much, still unable to get up, moping over someone who is awful and also doesn't like you, stressing out over work that's fundamentally uninteresting. It feels like the same fucking thing, over and over and over. Unsatisfying, and worse, boring. Writing can also feel horrible, but at least it's generative. Something comes of it, and if you're lucky that something has substance and originality. Mary Oliver: "The most regretful people on earth are those who felt the call to creative work, who felt their own creative power restive and uprising, and gave to it neither power nor time."
“...there are (at least) four kinds of frustration: the frustration of being deprived of something that has never existed; the frustration of being deprived of something one has never had (whether or not it exists); the frustration of being deprived of something one has had; and, finally, the frustration of being deprived of something one once had, but can’t have again.”
“For a time, I am slightly jealous of [my daughter’s] attraction to this household, though I understand it perfectly, for it embodies certain principles of living — of generosity, tolerance, the recognition of the human as the pre-eminent value — that I myself hold dear while frequently feeling unable to deploy them in my own home. Like the body itself, a home is both something looked at and lived in, a duality that in neither case I have managed to reconcile. I retain the belief that other people’s homes are real where mine is a fabrication, just as I imagine others to have inner lives less flawed than my own.” - Rachel Cusk, from the essay “Making Home.”
I wonder if I agree with the 2 weeks thing.
“To read a novel requires a certain amount of concentration, focus, devotion to the reading. If you read a novel in more than two weeks you don’t read the novel really. So I think that kind of concentration and focus and attentiveness is hard to come by - it’s hard to find huge numbers of people, large numbers of people, significant numbers of people, who have those qualities.”
There’s something about sober living and sober thinking, about facing long afternoons without the numbing distraction of anesthesia, that disabuses you of the belief in externals, shows you that strength and hope come not from circumstances or the acquisition of things but from the simple accumulation of active experience, from gritting the teeth and checking the items off the list, one by one, even though it’s painful and you’re afraid.
Parity between web/mobile. Visual consistency. Complete rethinking of IA. Less but better.