 |
| Yohji Yamamoto |
First I went on vacation. And by that I mean I stayed home from the studio for the last four days, which is pretty much unheard of for me, and didn't think about making things, or cry and threaten to quit, or draw any elaborate charts that might plot The right way to do everything, or even make any big battle plans for my return.
I did ask my co-conspirator if he would spend a good part of today cleaning the studio with me as part a fresh start, so that will be good, but mostly ... mostly I sat around. I unwound. We had some big talks about the world. I napped. I was so relaxed on Monday that I was surprised to hear the thump when the mailman came - by then I thought it was a holiday for everyone.
Secondly, I completely changed my diet. I know. I know. I feel great. Maybe more on that later, but for now, this. For a long time I've been stewing on the idea that I really can't move forward with my work without caring for my body too. It just isn't right. It is an imbalance. I'm dragging the whole Helen on this path.
Then last night, because the mailman somehow got it to my door, I watched Notebooks on Cities and Clothes, a Wim Wenders movie about fashion designer Yohji Yamamoto. (It was super frustrating to watch because of the editing and loud background noise. Sorry, Wim Wenders. But it was like watching concert footage shot by someone who obviously isn't a musician - no - I don't want to see the grimaces of the bass player while the drummer is soloing.) But ultimately, it fed me. There are so few people who do the same work as me whom I count as heroes. Yohji Yamamoto understands that fashion is nothing and everything, simultaneously and seamlessly. I'm envious of the world he has built, in the best possible way. I feel better positioned in the world when I see his position. Plus the man has a black pincushion, could he get any cooler? He's a homing beacon for me, a shy, chain-smoking homing beacon in black.
