notes from a wine bar

and words about an "artist date"

source: Pitchfork

Floor Time​​

/flôr tīm/
noun

1. the 15-60 minute time period spent laying on the floor in the middle of the work day, typically as a relief from the soul-sucking reality of corporate America. 

I’m sitting at the window seat of my neighborhood wine bar on a Saturday afternoon. This place is two blocks from my house, and I know I can have a glass at home, but leaving my enclosure meant putting on a nicer blouse, some necklaces, and even a lip shade—the one I got from Korea called “Nude Scene.” I ordered a glass of red wine, which is too fruit-forward—next time I’ll stick with the pinot—and I’m reading a very average romcom as the snow falls outside, but unfortunately, does not stick. 

The bartender is a young guy in a very loud winter sweater. It’s what I imagine the Weasley kids get for Christmas. There are only five tables in this bar, along with the bar, and there are exclusively women in the room (bartender aside). There’s one other woman here on her own, sitting at the table furthest from the window. She’s enjoying a bowl of soup and a large glass of white wine while tapping vigorously on her phone. The other women are almost all sharing their deeply disappointing dating stories. There is conversation around star signs, the lack of emotional intelligence in men, and the woes of online dating. Meanwhile, the duo behind me is debriefing about their impending evening plans. One is about to go on a first date, while the other is newly dating someone and criticizing her partner’s music taste a la “we go to a lot of EDM shows, which isn’t really my thing but it’s new to me so it’s interesting. I personally prefer a singer/songwriter in a more intimate venue.” Preach, girlie.

I get back to reading my (once again) very average romcom, but I catch little snippets of the ongoing conversations when I take breaks to stretch out my neck and stare at the snow. I should do this more often, I think. What, exactly? Read. Go to the snow. Be a regular at the neighborhood haunts. Exist in female-dominant spaces. Take myself on solo dates.

This week I started doing The Artist’s Way (shout out to Nikki Gordon who successfully convinced me to join her cult and to Viv Nuñez who told me to buy the book two years ago—it’s been sitting unopened on my shelf until this week but look I’m finally doing it!!). If you’re familiar with it, you probably could give a much more in-depth and eloquent description of its powers, but for those who aren’t familiar, it’s a self-help book laid out as a 12-week course designed to help you untap your self-confidence and live your most creative life.

source: Giphy

One of the key pillars of the course is taking yourself on a weekly “artist date.” The objective here is to “[nurture] your creative consciousness” by tending to your inner artist, and it has to happen in solitude so you can focus on your inner artist rather than the company you’re with. Examples of an artist date provided include solitary excursions to the beach (this woman’s approach comes to mind), a sortie out to a church to listen to gospel music, or even bowling.

Now I’m still new to the course, so I’m unsure if the wine and book time may fulfill this requirement. But what I am sure of is that sitting alone at that bar, watching the snow fall, is something I haven’t made space for in a really, really long time. And I felt my inner consciousness (rather, my inner artist??) show me physically, emotionally, and mentally that it missed it. I guess what I’m preaching is that even if you don’t commit yourself to The Artist’s Way¹ I encourage you to take your inner artist on a date. It may seem silly—or if you’re like my subconscious, like unproductive time—but I promise after the fact you feel different. Go on, then. Give it a try.

Something I Thought of in the Shower

What song would you want playing at your funeral as you are lowered into the ground? Eli said his was Yakety Sax, which I respect and is very fitting, but I continue to struggle with what my choice would be. Thoughts?

Something Pretty

I am newly obsessed with this cake decorator on Instagram.

source: Javi Bakes

Something To Laugh About

Here are this week’s gems—winter content kinda rules, no?

• The way in which this is the fine line I’ve been walking for the past two years.

• Due diligence: in case you missed the Golden Globs, here’s this.

• What was crazy is that I already got this on my #fyp but then literally FIVE of ya’ll sent this to me. You get me 🥲

Something for Clarice

Hey! This newsletter is free and I intend to keep it that way. That said, if you love it and want to show your appreciation, buy me a coffee :)

By the way…I’m reading this.

I’ve had The Love Affairs of Nathaniel P. by Adelle Waldman sitting on my nightstand for quite a time now—finally started it and so far I’m whizzing through it!

credit: Warby Parker?? lawl.

Hope you all have a lovely long weekend (a full extra day to take your inner artist on a wee date :) and that your Januaries are off to a delightful and strong start.

Til’ next time, artistes. Your friend,

Clarice

1. and note that I will neither judge nor fault you for this given that a) I am only a week into the work and haven’t even made my own assessment yet and b) this book literally sat on my shelf untouched for two years so I am def a proponent of doing things on your own time