)(( hannah mello ))(

Agglomeration \uh-glom-uh-RAY-shuhn\

1. The act or process of collecting in a mass; a heaping together.
2. A jumbled cluster or mass of usually varied elements.

1. Self-Declared Billboards

Walking 50 blocks in the city.
A Sunday.
Seeing what there was to see.
Zooming in on what could have been also to others
Billboards of thought-provocation
But, were instead, small type on tiny posts.





























































This last sentence in interrogative form challenged me outside of the immediate literal meaning of dollars and cents. What does it cost me to live in this particular city at this particular time? What does it cost each of us to live where we are? Are the gains more than the cost? Is the cost greater than we are budgeting for? We each have one life and risk can either be material for dreams ("to RISK, perchance to dream" -- another ad i have photoed), or the stepping stones to destruction.





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2. Camping in Tuxedo NY

Friday, September 28 & Satuday, September 29 were full of
CLEAN mountain air.
Real, beautiful dirt.
Leaves above and below.
Cold, tree-sheltered air.
Views.
Lakes and streams and
Car rides and
New meetings.
A 5 mile hike.
Conversation around a 3 am still-burning campfire.







































































































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3. Market in Union Square

Fanny, my French friend, and I went to the Metropolitan Museum of Art-- getting in free with our Museum staff ID's-- to see the Rembrandt exhibition which was less than the expectation for inspiration. Following it, we paced down to Union Square where we rubbed shoulders with market visitors and took in the sight of choice and choosing and freshness.















Fanny. :)



















































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4. Italy, Greece, & USA Unite

I have had the intersection of people & continents.
Katie and I were roomates in Greece.
Yosefa and her twin Paloma were the first that I met, when still in the airport in Athens.
Katie & Yosefa & Paloma all came to Italia. Katie to live. The other 2 to visit Katie and me in my town and house. Katie's boyfriend Piero and me and Damiano all were together in our adventures as well. Intersections. Katie from Texas. Yosefa & Paloma from California as well.


















Greenwich Starbucks meeting of Katie (visiting for a week with Piero from Italia) and the now-NY Yosefa and myself. Quality convo.



















These photos above and below are of Yosefa and me in Central Park eating Astoria, Queens purchased watermelon after a morning at the Met and an afternoon moving my fashion designer friend Shinae. Yosefa is a NYC resident now with me.



















After the above day, I faced the wall, waiting for the train, only to see a variation of my very name rubbed out of the skum/dust of the PATH train wall. SERENDIPITY.



















An old man in the Starbucks by the World Trade Center site-- a character. Viewed by Joel and myself before meeting up with a visiting Katie & Piero.




















Jersey Light Rail travel with Katie & Piero & Joel & myself -- to view my house, grab supplies, and view photos.



















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5. World Music

Wednesday last was a night of soul-truth decision. I realized that I really wanted to stay at work to be an audience member at Idan Raichel and Friends' Acoustic Series concert. I had plans to go to my Wednesday night Missional Culture group (which I hadn't been to in a month cause of Katie/Piero visiting, because of needing to work one week, etc.). I had a soul-truth moment of realizing that the only reason why I would go to it and not to the concert was because I wanted people to like me and to think well of me (seeing that I'm not a no-show flake and that I'm in-the-mix). That was an illuminating realization. So, I stayed. I went to the concert that had a soundcheck I had eavesdropped on that afternoon for 3 minutes and had brought tears to my eyes. The result? Soul-awakening inspiration. I wept. It was more than beautiful.













There is something SOULFUL about hearing languages you cannot understand-- be they spoken or sung. I must say that being in a room with un-understood words but such rich concentration of EMOTION and DESIRE and MEANING and SOUL-- timeless, spiritual, and real.

I took this photo below right after seeing the concert, as I was walking back from the museum to the train, and it incapsuled some of the truth I had experienced face-to-face at the show.



















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6. 14 Hours of Style.com

I am an Atrium Staffing employee at the moment, thanks to my friend Katie's old-Nashville-university-friend Beth.

I got a call on Thursday afternoon, telling me about an 8 hour day of working for Conde Nast-- the marketing company--'s devision dedicated to Style.com--> THE website of runway and ready-to-wear fashion process/progression.

And so, I found myself in Midtown-- in an elevator IDENTICAL to the one in "The Devil Wears Prada" film.

I was in a town car with the marketting manager, driving all over the city getting envelopes and wine bags and tissue paper to prepare for a BIG PARTY for:
http://www.style.com/w/feat_story/010107/full_page.html

I LITERALLY addressed envelopes to THE addresses of Sean "Puffy" Combs, James Fallon, Calvin Klein, Vera Wang, Justin Timberlake, Kate Moss, Gwyneth Paltrow, and 590 other souls. Then at 11:00 pm the day finally ended (8 hours stretching out to be 14 hours) at the BIG Midtown Post office where I helped put stamps on each and every invitation (600+ of the biggest names)--invitations to be mailed for London, Belgium, Milan, Paris, To-Be-Hand-Messenger-ed, New York, and California. INSANITY.

The people I was working with were so cool and fun and considerate. We just joked around and had fun. >>> But I had made sure to wear styly clothes and funky makeup and jewlery that day :). They asked specifically for my info at the end of the night saying "it's hard to find good people to work with". So we'll see if the intersection happens again. I'm grateful.



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7. Apple-Picking in Modena NY

Saturday, the morning after the 14 hour Style.com day, I awoke bright and early to meet peeps at the Upper West Side Starbucks to jump in a car & drive up to New Palz to go apple-picking. Little did I know that it would end up being in a town named specifically MODENA, NEW YORK-- the very town I lived in in Italia last year. Such the irony.

We had a day of eating Empire variety apples OFF THE TREE that dripped with literal better-than-out-of-the-bottle, LITERAL apple JUICE.

We wandered through a corn maze.
We propelled apples towards a round-hay-bale target with a giant sling shot.
We had a hay ride.
We ate apple cider donuts freshly made and crispy but mushy.
We met new people. Had fresh conversations of people of random and fresh perspectives.



















































































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8. Bebo Revisitation

After the apple-picking venture, the car took a turn down-state to glorious (sarcasm admitted) Flushing NY where we visited a concert where I got to re-intersect with Bebo Norman. I first saw Bebo at the Caedmon Call's 40 Acres College Campus tour at some Nor-Cal school in the mountains-- with him and Jill Phillips opening. I went with a carload of friends. From the minute Bebo had walked onto the stage, following the thoughtful and guitar-toting Jill, I had captured every word into a drawer in my mind. Every lyric. Every melody line. Every in-between-song thought. Bebo was a songwriter. A SONGWRITER. He had fresh words to incapsulate truth. I was grateful. Since, I have purchased his music, listened to it serendipitously through seasons of life when it was MOST MEANINGFUL. He has been my male version of India Arie.

Sadly, when I sat there in the FREAKING FRONT ROW (our carload split up cause we arrived late-- thanks to bridge traffic--and I SCORED the only seat left in the front row!! gotta love open seating! :)...), listening and watching him strain, I saw an altered version of the Bebo that I appreciate so much as an ARTIST. He has been traveling in circles and with recording labels that DO NOT inspire ART. He is straining vocally, trying to be impressive like the duo he is opening for, who can BLOW (as they say in the ghetto for people who can SING). He is writing songs with cliche and less than (LESS LESS LESS THAN) meaningful lyrics. I mourn what the bubble of the industry can do to so ALIVE an ARTIST. Regardless, there were moments in the show when life was truly talked about and meaning was presented in melody. I cried when he sang "The Hammer Holds"-- a genius piece of lyric that he had sung that first night in that college auditorium in northern Cal so many years ago.

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9. Brooklyn Family Reunion

Sunday, following Friday of Style & Saturday of Apples and Bebo--
I awoke in Brooklyn (at Yosefa's apartment)--
to be picked up by family I had never before met.

Brooklyn-- from the Kings Highway N train waiting platform:

















This is Helen & Tony-- celebrating their 60th wedding anniversary.
Helen = my grandma's sister (Napolitan/Italian)
Tony = her husband (Napolitan/Italian)
Both have always lived in Brooklyn-- my grandma being the only one of the 9 kids that left Brooklyn for the West of California.

This photo below is of Tony putting in Helen's earing-- just before he also, upon her request, brushed the back of her hair for her -- the spot she couldn't reach on her own.



















My grandma (83), her sister Helen (89), and Tony (?) in their shared van seat. (BELOW)

I had taken video of the three of them that morning-- who were all, upon my arrival, still in their pajamas :) and were oh-so-loud-talkers (ESPECIALLY HELEN. :) She's literally 4 feet tall and SUCH a Brooklyn-accent-ed riot. She is a LOUD talker and a BIG smiler and a laugher. Such joy. Such joy.)

I had recorded video of the three of them talking with and over each other. :) I had informally interviewed Helen and Tony about their life stories and marriage memories (since it was their 60th anniversary we were celebrating that day). The result was footage more meaningful and REAL (since it is MY family and so so so personal) than the interviews mixed into the old film "When Harry Met Sally".



















(BELOW) The Italian Trattoria where we had a gigantic Italian meal.
THE REAL DEAL. My Italian Italian Italian Brooklyn Family. INCREDIBLE.



















(BELOW) The table and the loud talkers. :)




















(BELOW) Cousin Alice's house and all of us.




















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10. A Toast

The longest post in the world-- SUCH AN AGGLOMERATION-- ends with a toast.
A toast to:
-- THE MISTO (Italian word for "mix") of Life with a capital "L".
-- THE SPRING (as in the metal swirly mechanism) that sometimes you step on along the way unexpectedly that propels you to unforeseen territories, circles, conversations, events, and the like.
-- FAMILY

Basta. (Italian for "Enough!") :)
I am grateful for Agglomerations.
:)

posted by )(( hannah mello ))( @ 9:04 AM