This week I finished unpacking books I had with me since I moved to SF, and integrated them with ones that had been in storage for years. They all sit now in beautiful built-in shelves, in an upstairs fireplace’d parlor room of a 1890s victorian in the Fair Oaks neighborhood. I am happy that my books are all here.
- Biographies. No surprise, I like people. Moss Hart (my namesake). Copland, Wilde, Anderson, Bernstein, Bacon.
- Books on words. Compact OED, Handy MidEast phrases, Basque to English, The Meaning of Meaning.
- Children’s books. Including some of my own from my childhood, and others I’ve picked up.
- Old books. Cute pocket sized Shakespeare, first edition Dickens, Oscar Wilde, illuminated Salome, illuminated Rubaiyat.
- Art books. One whole shelf. Magritte, Sendak, Holzer, Sherman, Ruscha. Vernacular drawings.
- Design books. One other whole shelf. Tibor, Graphis, Millman, Pentagram.
- Zines. Lots and lots of independent publication love over the years. Non. Might. Outpost Journal. Hello Mr., Jarry, Headmaster, Gum, Encyclopedia. Lots and lots of small books which I always am drawn to.
- Fiction. Some from my childhood and other new fiction I would like to read.
- Self. Books on spirituality in art, music, listening to the universe kinda stuff.
- Business inspiration. Being nice, reworking, teams.
- Poetry. Whitman, Rumi, Wilbur, Siken, Milton, cummings.
I’d say that paints a nice portrait of who I am.