Feeling #exceptionallyblessed to have spent the last week in California on an art installation at The Saguaro. I flew in on Monday with a suitcase full of ceramics + crochet and spent the next four days spray-painting my face off; the end result? A transformation of their fine dining restaurant, formerly called Tinto, into a psychedelic, Wilder + neon-inspired hangout called Rocco's Electric Red Room & Ice Cream Emporium. YOU REALLY MUST GO.
It's hard to put the Palm Springs V I B E S into words and the closest I can get is to say that when I'm there my brain just gets turned inside out. It's so different from what I see daily and as intense as the week was with workload it was still, somehow, restorative. The last few weeks have been C R A Z Y (events, events, events; deadlines on deadlines and travel – I'm currently typing this from Austin, Texas!) and the combo of mountains and desert and palm trees and sky was so needed; SO SOOTHING.
Above, a few ZEN MOMENTS captured while (literally) waiting on paint to dry. Because when in the desert (and armed with yr collection of vintage lace) WHAT ELSE IS THERE TO DO?
Here's to women.
Because on Friday night a man touched me in the street, and when I screamed – like, screamed – at him to get away from me he said "you're right, yeah. I shouldn't have done that."
Because on Saturday I sat at a bar in my neighborhood, alone with a glass of wine, and felt, for onus of having said hello, that I was the one to blame for the drunk guy standing next to me taking offense when I gently – sincerely, so gently – nudged him out of a possessive-lean situation and told him that I was married and that I was going home.
Because earlier today I resolutely stared at an older, likely kind and caring man who had come to fix the electricity at my studio to ask if I heard him correctly – had he just called me "darlin?" Because maybe I reminded him of his daughter and it was absolutely a term of endearment, but today, because of Friday and Saturday, I was not here for that. And so when he began to apologize and my phone began to ring I chose to answer the phone and I turned around and walked out, feeling very small and very petty.
And because, in a mix of feeling guilty about this morning and being way worn out, I acquiesced when a group of men asked if they could sit a few chairs down from me tonight – though there were other seats available – and I smiled through a few awkward attempts at commenting on my hair and hat and clothes, and I felt strangely unsafe when they noticed "Morgan's iPhone" as a wireless option and asked if it that was my name, but I still, then, thanked them for buying me a drink, and it wasn't until a joke was made about my bringing one of them back to my room that I got fucking mad and I realized how really over I am at being used to being on on guard all the time, and a straight run of proof that I need to be is just exhausting.
I'm married to the best of all of the dudes, and let it be known that I have the absolute privilege of being surrounded, constantly, by men of the most woke caliber: respectful to all humans equally, and to whom I'm appreciative for opening the door for me every now and then. And let it be known that I'm literally typing this at the bar while listening to two guys and a girl all SMDH about the gender wage gap. GOOD GUYS ARE EVERYWHERE, GUYS.
But back to women. These photos are of a bunch of us gathering at Nomad Yard last week for Women to Watch, an amazing initiative by my friends Jonna and Noelle, and one that brings us all together for learning and support and connection and celebration, creating a space where we can feel proud of each other and not scared and weird, or scared and competitive.
And good night.