“Whenever authors have been compelled to write of Southern California, it has been their tendency to extol, often beyond the limits of good taste, the quality of the climate, the beauty of its semitropical flora, and the loveliness of its natural setting.”
Leo Buscaglia’s collection of lectures, “Living, Loving & Learning” is exactly what the cover describes– “The JUBILANT #1 Best Seller.” His deep knowledge of the human condition and wisdom of the human spirit create timeless lessons that ring just as true today as when they written back in the 70’s. His remarks resonate deeply, articulating things that reverberate as the universal truths that we all knew but somehow have recently forgotten. His vast intellect is apparent but is conveyed as welcoming, rather than off-putting– he makes it repeatedly clear that his intention is to create a space for the sharing and the offering of knowledge, not to preach from a stance of resolute, unreachable knowing.
“But our culture keeps telling us these things. “The person next to you can’t be trusted.” We don’t even know our neighbors. And that’s a shame. Because what are we doing? We’re telling our children also that they must not trust. And we’re becoming more and more separated from each other. It’s time to start building little bridges.”
Here in San Diego I am uniquely lucky to have access to so many amazing independent local stores. One of my favorite areas is North Park which features Instagram icons Coffee + Flowers and Flap Your Jacks amongst a colorful assortment of restaurants, boutiques, and coffee shops.Continue reading “Verbatim Bookstore”
“In the darkest part of the night, when your husband and your son are sleeping, you wonder about death: If courage crumples in the face of it. If it comes like an avalanche, carrying with it the debris that was your life. If you’ll sense it in the stillness of things, smell its crisp approach on the air, or if you’ll only hear that terrible thunder telling you that you’re too late, that before you have a chance to turn and see it, it will be upon you, this furious advance of snow and ice and trees and wind, this angry charge that is only gravity, calling you home.”
Excerpt from “How It Ends” by Louise A. Blum, published in The Sun March 2020 issue
Little White Lies was established in 2005 as a passionate project to combine striking graphic illustration with various movie conversations. Issue 85 is the July/August issue of 2020, having been produced and distributed in a lockdown state. Besides its collection of fascinatingly specific movie articles, this issue is especially relevant due to it’s special issue status of being a Food & Film feature. This issues explores the forbidden world of celebrity cookbooks, recounts specifically meaningful meals, remakes movie posters with food, and explores Brad Pitt’s prolific on-screen eating scenes. The graphics are artful and they frame each article and segment into a cohesive whole. The interior color palettes transition frequently, captivating the excitement of the reader as they begin to realize they have no idea what to expect from the next page.Continue reading “Little White Lies: Issue 85”
This pandemic has forced us all to reconsider and reimagine the things we accepted as normal and, even, presumed to be essential. The fashion industry lept into action in the early days of the virus; producing masks, gowns and hand sanitizers in their factories and donating to various charitable causes. They are now forced to reassess previously uncontested traditions in our cultural embarking into this “new normal.” For some, the coronavirus has provided a long awaited opportunity make the fashion industry more practical, accessible and environmentally sustainable.
This film depicts the last years of Vincent Van Gogh’s life, after his slight accumulance of a reputation in the Parisian city center. Willem Dafoe comes alive on screen, fully immersed in his role of the tortured artist. The devastating degradation of Van Gogh’s mental health is explored through intimate, distorted camera work. The off-kilter angles and shaky movement put the viewer in Van Gogh’s shoes, advancing in obscurity as his own dissociations progress. The scenery of the film is resplendent and the distortions caused by the sun seeping into Vincent’s perspective allows the viewer to truly see these landscapes through Van Gogh’s adoring eyes; illustrious color burning under a setting sun.