In which I draw a rose

I do not worry all that much about dementia.  First of all there is zero history of early on-set on either side of my family tree.  & second, no ones mind really started to go until they were in their 90s (& by go, I mean change in any real way from when they were in their 20s-yes there are plenty of squirrely people in my family but they have ALWAYS been squirrely; the old lady who cannot name the last three presidents in her 70s would have had to think long & hard about it in her 30s).  That being said, I am not interested in losing any mental ground for whatever reason, most especially including inertia. 

To that end, & because I have wanted to for a long time, I signed up for a beginning drawing class.  & last night was the first night.  As I understand it, each week will be a different technique & last night we began with blind contour drawing.  So I got to see my same old technique up close & personal:  I trace.  I don't mean plonk the object down on the paper & trace around it, I mean move my hand without touching the paper around & around & around the paper until I am comfortable with the routine & then I drop my needle...erm I mean pen & make my drawing.  Fast.  & with my eyes closed.

I said this when I was asked & the teacher is too nice to call me a liar (she really is very nice).  When we did it a second time, I saw her watch me.  Or rather, I saw her when I opened my eyes.  Later when she saw what I had done, her advice was to slow down.  I think I have given her a false view of my drawing skills though because blind contour drawing is a lot like free motion quilting, except you get to hold the pen in your hand instead of having to push the paper around underneath it. 

What would Vincent do?

I have a limited attention span when it comes to ART that hangs on a wall.  I just don't get it.  I am not not-human, I have favorites like any one else.  As a child I liked to go to art museums (further proof I was not like the others, although at least one of my brothers did as well...so there).  As an adult I cannot help but wonder if my outstandingly poor vision might be part of my lack of appreciation.  & then I move on.  One of my favorites then & now was...

But I digress, lets talk about Vincent.  He was born into what I understand was a loving, caring financially stable home.  His family was religious (his father was a minister), but even they were alarmed by his growing zealotry.  Still, they did their best to understand & were, to varying degrees, as successful & unsuccessful as any modern family might be.  Religious fervor aside, his behavior was erratic.  It probably didn't help that what we think of as binge drinking today was a widely accepted normal social behavior in his. 

& I cannot help it, whenever someone uses mental illness as an excuse or a reason or a cause for doing something that is completely repellant to everything that is humane, I still think of Vincent van Gogh.

There is no question that Vincent was in pain.  The cause is something for discussion & likely a combination of many things, including the alcoholism we think of as being at least a bit in his own control.  Yes an argument could be made that he was self medicating...& he almost certainly was but I digress.  The point I am trying to make is that when the noises inside got too loud, he didn't go on a killing spree, he cut off is own ear.  He argued with his father something awful, but is brother loved him enough to support him.  I am going out on a limb here, but in my view when a sibling takes the side of a parent against a sibling that is a normal-ish, or at least common scenario.  When a sibling sides with the very difficult sibling....that parent is probably more difficult than most can imagine.

I have spent enough time looking at the "after" picture of a family that experiences tremendous violence within itself to see that the Van Goghs are ticking all the right...all the wrong boxes.  But Vincent never killed anyone except himself,  Yes I know other family members claimed he killed his father by arguing with him but ONE: it takes two tango & TWO: if extreme arguing was an actual cause of death, almost everyone who ever did anything great would be a murderer.  Shaking off arguments is a kind of learned immunity.

Which brings us back to Vincent.  If he did kill his father....when my father dies his near-&-dear could say I killed him; our last argument was decades ago & I said good riddance.  Last I heard he was still pissed.  If whether or not Vincent did kill his father was one of those discussions, there was little dispute that he killed himself.  But it turns out we might have been wrong about that, too.  There is reason to believe he did not kill himself, was wounded as the result of an accident & did not want the person who shot him to have his own life ruined over something Vincent thought about doing anyhow.

You can see my quandary.  Mental illness is used to excuse every sort of heinous behavior, but then there is Vincent who may have waded through that fog to make a compassionate decision it would be almost impossible for a sane person to make. 

Happy birthday Vincent.  A day early.

Fauvism: an early 20th century art movement marked by bold shapes, vivid colors & distorted forms

The word for the day on the word of the day type twitter account I am hooked on was FAUVISM.  Not today, a week or more ago-I've been busy.

I don't think I had ever heard this word before which is just plain sad because I LOVE this word.  Fauvism is...was an art movement, a painting movement really marked by bold shapes & colors, often distorted.  I can think of quite a few paintings that are clearly in this...genre?  Jasper Johns has always been a huge favorite of mine & I thought that was what I was looking at:  Fauvism.  If you are willing to take that leap, maybe you can take this one:  the idea of  African-American quilts being Fauvist.

If you know anything about art history you know I was way off; that is not Fauvism at all.  This is what happens when you start trying to describe not-word things with words only.  Fauvism was almost entirely French & not really all that abstract (when the dictionary says "distorted forms" those forms are still identifiable).  The biggest name in Fauvism is Matisse.  It turns out Fauvism is NOT the word for what I like, although I like Matisse et al plenty. 

This whole business put me in mind of one of my favorite episodes of one of my favorite shows.  The show was News Radio & wow do I miss it!  The episode was "Super Karate Monkey Death Car".  Let me give it to you in a nutshell: the wealthy eccentric owner of a news radio station (among other things) had written an autobiography that did not sell so well in the US but killed in Japan.  So he decides to take the Japanese translation & translate it back to English.  The book reading scene, the first time he actually reads his new autobiography, is a gift to the world.  Seriously there is almost no slump so slumpy this clip cannot shake me out of.

That's it, that's all I've got.  Except I guess I can start calling the art I like, marked by bold shapes, vivid colors & distorted forms Not-Fauvism.  Because that's not confusing. 

Bird trap swap, not for the faint of heart

I have had my heart set on making a birdtrap quilt like the one at the Belger Art Center since I first saw it in Maude Wahlman's book Signs & symbols : African images in African-American quilts.  I have even made a few passes & I think I have come up with a very broad set of guidelines that will work well for a swap.

Before we begin however, I would encourage everyone who thinks they might be interested to take a look at the quilt I am talking about.   The bird trap quilt was made by Pecolia Warner in the 20th century, but it looks like it could have been in use a hundred years or more ago.  The design is simple, sort of, but there is a lot going on, & not just because it is made of leftovers & scraps.

The basic design is a center piece of some kind & then four sides "built up" in either the traditional log cabin style or courthouse steps style or some combination of the two, made either by wrapping the planks around the center or building out from the center by adding a border to two opposite sides & then the other two sides.  If this is hard to  follow, I think a quick look at the links will clear this up.  Mixed in with the solid planks are pieced planks, most often strips of 1/2-square triangles.  & last but not least, not one of these blocks is perfectly square.

To make our bird trap swap blocks you will need a minimum of four fabrics (& very likely more-remember use those scraps up!) :  one fabric must be an actual solid, one fabric must be a large scale print, one fabric most be a small scale print & the fourth is your choice.  The fifth, sixth, seventh, etc. are also all your choice as well.

You will begin with a center block of not less than 2" square & not more than 4.5" square.  If the center is less than 3", it can be a single solid piece, but if it is 3" or more, it should be pieced.

Next you will add your "planks" to all four sides in whatever order pleases you.  You must have at least two planks on each side, but you may have more.  At least one plank in the completed block should be partially or wholly made of 1/2- square triangle pieces.  Lastly, at least one plank in the completed block should be a different width than the others.  They can all be different, actually, but only one must be.

Finally, your block should be between 10.5"-12.5" by 10.5"-12.5" when finished.  It is entirely possible your block will not be square & that is just fine-neither were any in the inspiration quilt.  The swapped blocks you get back will also be of different shapes & sizes (well not too different, the blocks are that are not square, will certainly be rectangle).  As in the inspiration quilt, you can use your sashing to unify them & pull the whole thing together.

Right now, sign-up is open to as many as want to participate.  Each person should make nine (9) bird trap blocks, keep one & send eight.  If we have nine or more participants, everyone will get a block from a different person.  If we have fewer, the blocks will be shuffled between everyone.  You will certainly get more than one from some people BUT as the block itself is so scrappy this should not be an issue.

Blocks are due the last Saturday in November, November 30, 2013.  You can sign up either in the comments here or in the Facebook Quilt Block Swap group.

"Can you show me/Can you show me/The shine of your Japan/The sparkle of your China"

While my mom was visiting, we went one place I have been longing to go:  the new Cofrin Asian Art Wing at The Harn Museum of Art.  This wing, or rather one of the pieces to be housed there, actually made international news earlier this year: the Korean Bodhisatvah.

The short version is X-rays had shown this 17th century bodhi had a mass in his head.  In the interest of finding out what that mass was, they put him in the CAT scan & soon enough had a diagnosis.  I will let the link go into the details.  Or even better, you can visit himself at the Harn.

While you are there, you can also see other objects glorifying other gods, other lives, even other trades.  But there really is nothing else so eye-catching&fixing as the seated bodhi.   I kept leaving him & going to see the ceramics, & then the garden, the other gods.  & then back to the room with his x-rays & scans & documents & of course, him.

If you had asked me, I would have said that I was most partial to Ganesha & indeed I still think I am, but the bodhi was indeed a thing of great beauty.  I can understand being tempted to sell my house in town.  Instead, my mom bought me the t-shirt.

Dear Mom

Bonjour!

Just got back from the shipping out a package(did you ever find that Stockard Channing reading Why I Live at the PO?).  It contains:

1. The promised quilt for the new daughter of your ex-son-in-law.  If you could trim the edges & sew up the binding (thank you!) & give it to your grandaughter to give as a gift to her new 1/2-sister that would be lovely.  I cannot for the life of me remember Rhymes-with-Schmuck's current wife's real name & I cannot very well address a note to her as Biological-Clock-Ticking so if you could somehow communicate "machine washable gentle, tumble dry briefly & then lie flat" I would be grateful.
   
   
2. A bright yellow railroad-looking spike made of plastic.  Remember Crazy R*****, the one who was so obsessed with her doorknobs being thoroughly cleaned, but cheated on her husband in the back seats of strangers' cars?  Well, her dogs were just peeing ANYWHERE in the yard & she got one of these & then they just started peeing there & she was able to keep them out of her roses.  Yes, the dogs would lift a leg on the only thing in the yard with thorns; they were as crazy as she was.  I thought if you put this in a spot along the sidewalk the walked-dogs might use it instead of your hosta (I always want to say Hofstra). 
   
   
3. Your quilt block swap swap blocks from JUNE.  Yes, I am a lousy swap-keeper. 
   
   
4. A collection of work-force motivational posters from just before WWI thru to just after WWII.  The Harn has an exhibit & I had been wanting to go for a while, but now that C****** is a grown-up with a job, she only has enough time for me to take her to lunch & more recently buy her a crock pot.  So I had to wait for a rainy Sunday when A could not work on the greenhouse & then we went.    His favorite was the long winded way of saying "keep it brief", but I would not want to pick a favorite for you so we got you the flip-book.  We both could picture it in your house, although we could not agree where.  I would have gotten another for L***** van A***** but they only had one more & it was mangled.
   
5. Two (2) Lopi sweaters.  One you made me in college.  It still fits (although the sleeves were always short) but it occurred to me it would also fit one of your grandaughters.  Tell A****** it is supposed to have 3/4- length sleeves.  The other you made for M****** U***** when we were dating & I think it might fit D***.
   
6. Gator grocery bags for yourself or that rabid Gator fan G***** hangs out with.
   
7. A scarf that needs blocking, but the color is one you like.  Way-back-when I was showing C****** how to choose increases & decreases for better shaping & made it up quick & put it aside.  Do you want it?

No other news, except Becca is out of EPM paste, so now we wait & see if her trouble swallowing comes back.  & oh, I used the Balti Seasoning you got me at Penzey's to stir fry tofu cubes & A cannot get enough of it!  Seriously.  I used the leftovers in a layered vegetarian shepherd's pie type thing (à la Horn of the Moon) & he had that for dinner every night until it was gone, except last Thursday because I insisted we stop for a slice on the way home from campus.  V** was here when I was making it & she could not believe how good it smelled (her words, not mine; she is not usually a tofu-woman).

That really is it.  Please let me know when the package arrives.

Je m'appelle M*******

View it in a room

Some one told me, "you have too many blogs in your blog rolls".  Hmmm.  Really?  Can B actresses watch too many movies?  Does anyone trust a skinny cook?

So in lieu of writing an actual post I thought I would take you on an occasional tour of some of my favorites.  First stop:  Regretsy.  If you do not know what Etsy is, well I am not sure where you go to buy all that handmade stuff they won't let people sell on eBay but Etsy will save you all that driving.  There is good stuff there, too.  Lots of it actually, but it only takes one roadkill painting collection to tarnish the whole apple barrel. 

My favorite regretsy is, of course, Calamari Full of Grace.  I have it bookmarked so when I feel sad I can look at it.  When I am really sad, I view it in a room.  It never fails to lift my spirits.

Of course, I am more than fond of anything church-but-not-church & I was hypnotized by the PBS program on cuttlefish.  This particular regretsy may not be for you.  That's not a problem, you will find something I promise.

In which an organization dedicated to the preservation of a childhood icon ponders prostitution

When we visited London in ought-five-or-six (I really do not quite remember) one thing I very much wanted to do & DID do was see the Pooh portrait at the National Portrait Gallery. Christopher Robin was also in the picture, but I do not care about him.

Not so very long before we went, some group in the UK (perhaps the very group...but I digress) had become quite testy with the New York Public Library because they (the library) had the actual original Winnie-the-Pooh in their collection & the complainants felt this artifact belonged on British soil, what with Pooh being a national treasure & all. In the version I heard, the library responded they would be happy to discuss it, just as soon as the British Museum returned the Elgin Marbles...& all those mummies...

I have decided to believe this story for two reasons. First, it sounds like something a New York librarian would say: snarky yet well informed, dare I say snarkily well informed? Also Pot-Kettle-Black is one of my favorite games.

Flash forward to last January when I read this & learned again that indeed nothing is sacred. The very organization charged with preserving the original Pooh concept, those same caretakers that licensed him to Disney & gave us those flat-colored amorphous things & the Tigger song which I agree is worth having & then turned around & re-sold us Classic Pooh, maybe even inspiring that whole Classic Coke debacle....

What I am trying to say is I learned that someone had been commissioned to write more Pooh. Imagine that Christopher Robin never grows up. He never really leaves the hundred acre wood. He never writes his memoir talking about how intellectually distant his father was, that his mother could give a chilblain a run for its money & that he is sick&tired of people asking him about the G*d D*mned Bear. We have to pretend we do not know he married his first cousin against his mother's wishes- not because she was his first cousin but because she did not care for the girl's father, her own brother. It is too much to ask.

This is hardly the first time such a thing has happened. You might not know it but recently the Peter Pan People aka The Great Ormond Street Hospital authorized a sequel to Peter & Wendy. I just do not know what to think. I do, however have the audio-version on hold at the library. Someone somewhere had the good sense to hire Tim Curry to read the thing & that I will not miss.

But back to Pooh. Return to the Hundred Acre Wood will be on shelves in a bookstore near you tomorrow & just in time for holiday sales. I am not sure I will be able to face it but face it we must.

//how do you play Pot-Kettle-Black you ask? Well it is very easy. Whenever you catch people biotching about someone else doing something that they themselves do, you get right in their face & scream "Pot Kettle Black!". It is most effective if you have something in your mouth that sprays while you do this. I try to keep twizzlers & beer in my purse for just such occasions. Tuna sandwiches work too. Originally this game was widely known (in my family anyhow) as Guess My Food, but I classed it up a bit.

This is the time of year I like to rip-off Frida Kahlo

Earlier this week, "It's the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown" was on & I loved every moment. Then began the seasonal descent into madness culminating on Dia de los Muertos, which I love just as much. I used to think the bible-South did not really observe Hallowe'en but I have learned it is like the seasons: it is subtle, but the change is there.

I reminisce about the drag queen parades of my young adulthood with the fondness usually reserved for Louisa May Alcott/Currier & Ives ice skating memoirs. O' callow youth, ba-blah, ba-blah. I am so fond of drag parades that I am always disappointed that drag races will not include the same cast of characters. I never thought they would, but still I can dream...

The earlier Hallowe'ens of my memory are blissful & free, when packs of costumed children roamed the neighborhoods & hardly a prank was played. The great apple-razor/poisoned candy hoaxes were not yet upon us. It was indeed a Golden Age.

& then there is a gap. Not having children (& not being a drag queen) I more-or-less lost track of this holiday for many years. Right up until the year after we moved here. That year, Hallowe'en fell on a Sunday (as it did again, 5 years later). For those of you that missed it, there was, I swear to G*d, a movement to trick or treat on Saturday instead so as not to sully the sabbath with this pagan ritual. Oy. Now that I think about it, I am not sure why football is permitted on Sunday. After all it a sanitized re-enactment of brute force acquiring territory through the carrying of a symbolic pig skin. But that is probably just me being difficult.

At around the same time, I discovered Frida Kahlo. Not that she was missing. Or that I had not ever heard of her or seen her work before. But something fell into place & I found my inner Frida. Every year, I take this reminder to enjoy these last flowers of the year, wear every outlandish article of clothing I own all at once & generally stop worrying about what other people think. I have decided against taking up smoking though. & I think I will try to avoid divorcing A just to marry him again.

A painting, a book

I have been reading Strapless by Deborah Davis, about the famous Madame portrait by John Singer Sargent & it referenced (as being painted just before) a painting belonging to the MFA Boston that I have always admired: The Daughters of Edward Darley Boit.

I was not surprised to learn that it is indeed a portrait of four different children, ages 4-14 who were the daughters (plural) of this family. What did surprise me was that nowhere in the blurb at MFA (as recorded on-line) or in the book Strapless did anyone mention what I thought was obvious: the pose is intended to show the child distancing herself as she ages. The youngest child is front & center. The next, off to the side. The next at the back facing forward & the eldest, next to the previous, but facing away.



I admit to having done no research on this. I guess I thought it was such a no-brainer that it ought to be in the little black typed card on the wall, next to the painting itself.

What has this to do with useless ranching? Nothing at all.