In Gerald Hiken's living room
Drawing of the moment. Under a dark cloud. My own creation, I understand.
Read a passage of Proust given as a take home from a living room performance at the home of Gerald Hiken. It was such a gift, that night. To hear and see the performance of this man's craft in his own living room somewhere in Palo Alto. My Sunday was that much calmer--and needing it lately--because I was recounting the evening as I re-read the passage from Marcel Proust's "Swann's Way."
"And as soon as I had recognised the taste of the piece of madeleine soaked in her decoction of lime-blossom which my aunt used to give me (although I did not yet know and must long postpone the discovery of why this memory made me so happy) immediately the old grey house upon the street, where her room was, rose up like a stage set to attach itself to the little pavilion opening on to the garden which had been built out behind it for my parents (the isolated segment which until that moment had been all that I could see); and with the house the town, from morning to night and in all weathers, the Square where I used to be sent before lunch, the streets along which I used to run errands, the country roads we took when it was fine."
I can describe it this evening myself but others have done it better already. Palo Alto Weekly article by Robyn Israel from October 22, 2004.
My thanks to Pete Docter for our drive over and impromptu (we were late and chowed like they were giving medals) and Mary Coleman for herding us to Gerald's world.