Friday, July 17, 2009

Postcrossing: What I Send

These are some postcards I'm sending out. Yep, still doing the Postcrossing thing. Still getting some amazing cards from around the world--if the picture's lacking, the story is usually interesting.

The first card is that of a local artist who does scenes of Minneapolis landmarks. Understand me: I really like this city and what it can be, and I really wish I could boost it more, but many of the citizens that go out in public have some trait of assholishness in them. They don't hold doors open; if you smile at them, they scowl and look away; they never give their seats to elderly or blind people on the bus. The citizenry gets me down, but the restaurants, bars, museums, and many of the businesses are very exciting. This place is like a footlocker of manure with dozens of exquisitely cut precious gems embedded. I really, really wish I could throw myself wholeheartedly into supporting the city.

The second card is going out to a young man in Poland. He says he's into football teams and specifically requested that people send him cards featuring local (to the sender) football clubs. I think we would call that "soccer" here, and I don't think we have any clubs for that. I promised him I'd send him a postcard with the MN Vikings, if ever I could find one. But he mentioned that his girlfriend likes "puppies, other small animals, and small Africans." I ran out to Heavenly Soles (their sale is up to 75% off; I bought a second pair of Frye boots) and got some more postcards, one of which was this one. But it's a magic-view card, where if you tilt it back and forth, the three hearts seem to pulse with beats. I hope his girlfriend will like it.

The third is an Albrecht Durer woodcut, Saint Jerome in his Study. I've always liked Durer's work, moreso once I got into linocuts. His mastery of form and perspective compels my attention inordinately long. I picked this card up at the Minneapolis Institute of Arts, my favorite museum. I hate modern art and view the Walker's collection as comedic fodder, to my wife's deep chagrin, but the MIA glows within my chest.

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