Song Sung Blues

You may be surprised to learn that one of my absolute favorite singers is Neil Diamond. I have very early memories of playing 45s of "Song Sung Blue" and "Play Me" on the record player as a child, and of course "Holly Holy" always had a special place. Before I'd ever even heard the deep gravely voices of Bowie or Bono, Neil was there, and I still think his is the best voice. There's nothing like it. And while I sometimes think he was a better singer than songwriter, you can't argue with hits like "Sweet Caroline" and "I'm A Believer."

Anyway, I'm not an American Idol fan--in fact I vowed to never watch the show again after Constantine got voted off like 2 or 3 years ago. (Stop laughing! I didn't love him for his voice--it was the look in his eyes...) But today at work I heard that last night's AI featured Neil Diamond songs! So I had to go home and Youtube it. So now I've just finished watching the top 5 singers do their best to sing Diamond. And I didn't like any of the performances. I thought the best was Brooke's "I Am, I Said," but somehow the substitution of Arizona for New York in the lyrics was too cheesy for me, and it didn't make sense. Being torn between Arizona and L.A. is not being "lost between two shores!"

So I had to get back to the basics. If you aren't a Neil Diamond fan, please just humor me, and watch this:

He's the best! And by the way, if you've never seen "The Last Waltz," you are missing out. In fact, I think I need to buy it.

What I Learned About Today

This is what I learned about in class today: the complicated intertwining story of modern art in Europe.

One Dream

My sister found a store in the east village that sells all kinds of things from Japan, which she loves. Unfortunately, I guess not many other people love it, because it's going out of business. However, she was able to go buy a ton of stuff on sale, like origami paper and what she terms "cute things." Like this cell phone holder, for example. Now, I wasn't aware that a cell phone required such a holder, let alone a cushy thing resembling a fruit with a smiling face. But you must admit she's right. It is cute.
My favorite thing she found was a notebook with plain lined pages on the inside. And an inspiring quote on the cover. Next to a random picture of a chair it says, "One dream will come true today." I like it. The Japanese are good at coming up with inspiring and positive slogans for everyday objects, which I think is something we Americans should learn from.

So what dream will come true today?

Riddle Me This

Seen painted on the back of a furniture moving company truck in New York City. What does it mean? I've been trying to figure out if it's supposed to form a giant smiley face...

Philadelphia Roll (mmm...sushi...)

Today I went to Philadelphia. It was a school trip, and very enjoyable. I've been to that city a few times before, once with a church-group where we got lost and almost had several traffic accidents maneuvering a 15-passenger van through Philly's narrow streets, and then a couple other times on buying trips for the gallery, which were always in the dead of winter so I would never venture out of my hotel. This time was much different.

It was a leisurely morning busride, surprisingly short, giving me the perfect opportunity to catch up on my magazine reading and listen to saved podcasts. Arriving in Philadelphia, our first stop was the shop of Amy Finkel, a dealer in antiques who specializes in textiles and needlework pieces. She gave us a fascinating tour of her business and shared valuable knowledge from years spent in the antiques world--telling us the ins and outs of running an antiques business. This was terrific, probably the best talk we've had in our whole course, full of practical, useful advice. I left inspired.

Before our next appointment, everyone scattered for lunch, and I wandered the city's historic downtown, circling City Hall, pictured above. This building is simply (maybe that's not the right word) amazing! It is the largest stone building in the world, with no steel framework holding it together--just carved and placed stone, like an Egyptian pyramid. The sculptures that decorate the building were made by Alexander Milne Calder, the grandfather of the modernist sculptor we now associate with minimalist mobiles.

In fact, I read an interesting thing the other day. I was at the Whitney Museum the other day, where there are several Calders on display, including a piece called The Brass Family, a pyramid-like construction made just of twisted wire forming a stack of circus performers. It is brilliant--I wish I had a picture of it to show! So anyway, it made me go home and read about Calder. He once told someone, "Most American sculpture is awful. The only thing to do about it is to pretend that you don't know anything about it at all and then forget it." !!! This from a man whose grandfather and father were master sculptors. Granted, the youngest Calder was a genius artist and did practically invent the mobile, but that's no excuse. At the Pennsylvania Academy museum, his father's sculpting tools are on display, well-worn and still covered in clay dust.

Our next visit was to Freeman's, the oldest auction house in America. It is still housed in the remarkable 1920s building specifically designed to be a state of the art auction center. They were setting up their English and Continental furniture exhibitions which open tomorrow, but were happy to give my class a sneak preview and let us wander amongst the pieces, whose forms seemed strange to eyes that have spent the past 6 months immersed in the study of srictly American works.

The Pennsylvania Academy of Fine Art was the last and best stop. The school is the oldest art school in America (Philadelphia seems to be the first in many things--it was the first capitol, too, wasn't it?) and what is now a museum is a building built for the Academy in 1876, the year of the nation's centennial. The building is amazing--like a giant jewel box. The paintings housed within are also really great. Of especial importance is "The Gross Clinic" by Thomas Eakins. This is one of those paintings that was horribly scandalous when first painted. While we might describe it as "gross" today, it depicts the famous Dr. Gross in the middle of his surgery, which at that time took place with an audience of students, and no sterilization. When it was first revealed, it was considered too gruesome a subject for polite sensibilities, and hidden away until it eventually became a beloved Philadelphia icon. A few years ago when it was about to be sold to Alice Walton's Crystal Bridges Museum to raise money for the college that owned it, the outcry from Philadelphians was such that an art emergency was declared and the city was able to raise enough money to save it. In fact, this very morning it was announced that the piece is paid for and officially a Philadelphia possession.

It was quite moving to see the painting in real life. Reproductions don't begin to do it justice, even though it is very dark with age. The power and drama in it is palpable, and I can understand why it was so offensive to 19th century eyes. Looking at the blood spatters against the white cuffs and collars of the doctors, and the masterful figure of Gross himself, I was fascinated and repelled at the same time.

Another treat at the Pennsylvania Academy was a room displaying recent acquisitions. After seeing the Whitney Biennial, I was feeling dismayed over the state of contemporary art, which seems to be comprised of mostly odd, ugly, and seemingly pointless assemblages called scultpure (a stack of computer-printed paper is art?) I'll rant more about this later, but I assure you that my faith in art was restored by seeing the Academy's acquisitions, which included some extremely fine pieces by obviously talented contemporary artists. It was heartening to see.

So, after a hot April day of wandering around Philadelphia, I was whisked back to New York. Such a full day spent between two cities! My mind is still spinning with thoughts and impressions. But for now, sleep.

I Scream You Scream

Today on my run I realized that I've accomplished another dream that I had as a little child: to live in a place with ice cream trucks. One of the sounds of spring's arrival in my section of New York is the music-box jingle of the ice cream truck coming down the street, like the Pied Piper luring the children out of their homes. And luring me away from my run.

I'll take chocolate in a sugar cone, please!

Laundromat Blues

Bad news! One of the bragging points of my fabulous New York home is a bragging point no more. Sadly, our washer/drier combo machine thing wasn't working properly, so a guy came to fix it and took it apart and now the crazy landlady is supposed to be ordering new parts, but you know she's never going to do it. Not for a long time at least, not until we lower our rent so much that she has to do it. So meanwhile, I went to the laundromat today. Actually, it wasn't so bad. I kind of liked it. It certainly wasn't as pretty as the pictures you see (sorry, stolen from another blog out there...) but you know that every laundromat has its charm. There's always the candy machines and arcade games, all quarter-operated of course. Then there's the TV playing Montel, and little kids pushing each other around in the laundry carts. Stray socks collect dust in corners, and a bored woman mans the front desk, reading gossip magazines. I took a stack of magazines to read myself, as I sat in the plastic chair watching my clothes go around and around. Actually, I really like the laundromat. Time sort of stops when you're there amongst the humming of the machines and the everlastingly clean scent of detergent. I felt like I was accomplishing something, yet relaxing at the same time. It made me want to go home and do some spring cleaning, so that is exactly what I did.

Slice of Harlem

Riding on the bus today, coming home from church, I saw a pizza place called "Slice of Harlem." There's also a place called "Home-Boy Jewelry," believe it or not. I am charmed by Harlem and its diversity. Every business has a distince personality, as do the houses, churches, and other buildings. This is a picture of one of my favorites. It's a church on 145th Street. I just love it.

Spring Is Everywhere

Thank you, Pope! Because you were in town this weekend, I did not have to go to work on Saturday. Instead of issuing me a special security pass to get through the police lines around midtown on Saturday, my boss told me to just take the day off. So because of you, I was able to spend a gorgeous spring day wandering around Central Park. I took my paints along and explored, scouting the prettiest places, and capturing the spring blossoms, still so colorful.
Saturday was also a good day to not work, because it gave me time to meet my second cousin for brunch. Even though we both grew up in Oregon and we are roughly the same age, I'd never met him, and now we both live in New York! We met at a delightful cafe on the upper east side and chatted about art, culture, and the city--it was like a scene out of a Henry James story. I must say, I'm delighted to have a cousin in New York! He treated me, because the night before I'd been out late with friends from school and left my purse at The Auction House, a very eclectic but comfortable bar with strange art and oversized Victorian furniture. I guess I was so tired I forgot it was under my chair, and luckily nobody found it but one of the waiters, who saved it for me until the next night when I went to claim it.
Anyway, the park was very festive, as people celebrated upcoming Earth Day. There were dancing rollerskaters, a rock band giving a free performance, baseball games, chalk drawings, kids sailing boats and flying remote controlled airplanes, and other general merriment. It was one of those rare days when you get hot in the shade, but could be comfortable drinking hot chocolate in the shade. Everyone and their dogs were laying out getting sun. I joined in, and took a nap. When I woke up I was covered in petals from the trees above me. Look how beautiful New York is in the spring time!

Funday

I had fun today. The end.

No, I really am going to write a quick blog about my day, because it was a good one, and I've been neglecting my blog these past few days. But its super late and I'm exhausted, so this will be quick. So I gave my thesis presentation in the morning, which went really well despite my ominous dreams last night about it. It was the last day of presentations, so everyone was giddy and happy. After class I had an hour to kill before work so I found a sunny spot on Park Avenue to eat my lunch and people-watch. Sometimes being in New York is like being in a foreign city. I heard conversations in at least three languages from the business people eating lunch around me, and none of it was English. Such a pretty day. It was sunny and breezy, and I felt like I was at the beach--in a good way.

Work was fine--it went by fast. And I found out that I don't have to come in on Saturday because of the Pope. He's in town and apparently will be in the midtown area on Saturday (probably at one of the big cathedrals) so everyone needs a special security pass to be in the area. Rather than give me one, my boss said to just take the day off. Fine with me--I was wishing for a day in the park, and now I've got it!

After work I headed up to Harlem for Amateur Night at the Apollo, which takes place every Wednesday night. It's an Apollo tradition--it's how Gladys Knight and many other greats got their start. My friend Jeff was performing a comedy routine, so his friends were out in full force to cheer for him. For those of you who don't know, it's a talent-night where selected people get to go up and perform either a song or dance or what-have-you and the audience can either cheer or boo. The performer with the loudest cheers wins. Poor Jeff got booed off the stage, but I think it was because of all of us. We cheered so loudly when he came onstage that I think it made the rest of the audience boo just to be contrary. So between the mounting cheers and escalating boos, no-one could even hear Jeff and the "executioner" led him away. The whole show was really great though. It's such a slice of old New York, and I plan to go back and watch it again one of these days.

After the show everyone in our group headed to Becca's house for a soul-food feast on the roof. That girl is my hero. Home-style macaroni and cheese and fried chicken and yams... And the view from her rooftop on a clear spring night was just amazing.

Now, after a long, good day, I'm going to sleep.

My New Favorite Machine

In the Watson Library at the Metropolitan Museum of Art they have a machine that scans pages of books and lets you email them as .pdf files to yourself! It's free and it only takes a few seconds. I'm in love with it and I don't even know its name. Finally, technology is doing something worthwhile for me.

It Really is a Small World

This is my neighborhood library, designed by the famous beaux arts architects McKim, Mead & White. It's supposed to look like a renaissance Italian palazzo. (And by the way, if you want to read about a scandal, look no further than Stanford White. He was a pretty good artist, but man! A real creep. The mustache says it all.)

Anyway, I was thinking today that living in New York is the first time in my life that I've lived somewhere where everything is in walking distance from my house. I mean, not everything, but everything I need to survive. I grew up in the country, and always lived away from town. I would ride my bike to a nearby gas station sometimes to buy candy, but that doesn't count.

Here I can walk to buy my groceries, walk to the library, walk to church, walk to the drugstore, walk to a park--even walk to school, if I went to City College. I like the feeling of being part of a community, and it feels small, even though it is a huge city. I even run into people that I know. Tonight at Pathmark (I seem to be blogging about the grocery store a lot this week!) I bumped into a guy from church. (He's funny because he's always saying "Oh my heck!")

Not only do I love my neighborhood today, I'm very happy that it is showing signs of spring. When I stepped out the door this morning, the trees along the sidewalk had burst into white blossoms overnight. With their dark branches and white flower clusters silhouetted against the stone-gray buildings, you might think time stopped in the middle of a snow flurry. The scent is warm and heady.

But springtime in Harlem is noisy too, and I'm not just talking about birds (though there are a surprising amount). Cars come cruising down my street with their windows down and rap music blasting. Groups of people form on stoops and talk and laugh, the sounds drifting upward to my window. Kids play street games and jump on pogo sticks. Everyone wants to be outside when its warm, so the noise level is rising with the temperature. I don't really mind it though. You get used to it. And it's nice to feel part of such a vibrant, lively place.

I Know Who I Am

One of my favorite parts in one of my favorite movies, Moonstruck, is when the wife/mother, played by Olympia Dukakis, befriends a man at a restaurant. He walks her home and then asks if he can come inside with her. She is married, and even though she knows her husband is cheating on her, she says no. The man persists and asks why not. She says, "Because I know who I am."

When I was a little girl, raised on vivid fairy tales and free time, I often imagined I was a princess who had been secretly sent to live with a regular family so as to protect the royal line. Of course, no one knew but me and the animals in nature--but they couldn't speak to tell anyone. It made me feel better to imagine this scenario when I would get into scuffles with my siblings, or feel misunderstood by my parents, who expected me to do chores and babysit the younger kids. One day, I imagined, my royal bodyguards would come and escort me to a life of splendor!

By no means did I have a miserable childhood--quite the opposite in fact. It was just a childhood fantasy that I look back on now and laugh. And yet, as I grew older and became interested in genealogy, I realized that I am descended from royalty, if the family trees are accurate. I can trace a direct line to Erik XIV, King of Sweden, and further back to Viking kings such as Harald I of Denmark, known as "Bluetooth" (he's the one the wireless technology is named after!) It's strange, but knowing this gives me a certain security and stability. I feel secretly important, and connected to something larger than myself. It's awesome to think of how many people throughout time have lived lives that led to and culminate now in me.

Also, growing up in the church, going through the Young Women's program, I have always been taught that I have a "divine nature," or in other words: I am a child of God. Not only that, but because of it I am heiress to all that he has, a kingdom you might say, if I do my part to live righteously. But this isn't just me, this is everyone, and he loves all his children equally. And yet, knowing that I am a child of God makes me feel very very special.

Just as when I was a child, mad about something stupid, I would imagine my life as a princess, now I remind myself when I'm feeling sad or careworn that I am a princess. I am a loved child of a kind heavenly king. He is looking out for me, just waiting to bless me. And even though I might have to be crammed into a stuffy subway car or have my heart broken by a silly boy, I know who I am. I know where I came from, who I am, where I am going, and why I am here. I know what I'm worth, and what I deserve. From now on I'm not settling for anything less than the best.

(Pictured, an illustration by Elenore Abbott from The Swan Princess.)

Bits of Happiness

Three reasons to be happy:

1. Pepperidge Farms cookies on sale at Pathmark.
2. Six extraordinarily good-looking firemen behind me in line at Pathmark. (Although, why were there six of them buying just two boxes of toothpicks?)
3. Finally getting around to doing my taxes, only to find that I'm getting the biggest tax return of my life this year. It pays to be a student!

Also, we looked at the art of Gerald Murphy today in class (pictured: Razor, 1924) and I really like his style. He was a socialite turned artist, friends with Picasso and Fitzgerald and all the fun fashionable jet-setters of the 20s. But he sounded like a good guy--a family man. Supposedly the three stars in the painting represent his three children.

Another thing made me smile today. I fell asleep before the end of the NCAA championship game last night and woke up late this morning so I rushed to work. When I got there I asked Joe, the security guard, "Who won the game last night?" Without a pause, he said, "The Yankees." I love New York.

A Good Day

Yesterday was the best day. It was a rare Saturday on which I did not have to work, and the break could not have come at a better time. I slept in, but not too late, and took advantage of the quiet morning to buy groceries when the lines were short. Actually, it's funny--I almost started a fight at the grocery store! In line behind a rough-looking young man, I helped him when his cart got stuck on a pile of baskets next to the register. Then I started to load my groceries onto the conveyer belt as his groceries were scanned. In order to place my empty basket in the pile of other baskets, I had to remove someone's discarded box of twinkies and put it on the floor. But the lady behind me saw me do that and exclaimed, "Surely you cannot put that on the floor! Someone is going to eat that. Put it back in that basket at once!" Still sleepy from rolling out of bed, I complied with her, and that was that. But the man in front of me took offense at her scolding me, grabbed the box of twinkies and marched them over to the customer service desk himself. Then he started berating the woman, saying "This is America!" and "What's right is right and what's wrong is wrong!" and other things under his breath, which I didn't catch. I just tried to lay low and be neutral. Eventually, the man finished paying for his groceries, gathered them up and left, and I wished him a good day. Then I turned to the woman behind me and smiled, saying that she was right--twinkies shouldn't be on the floor. Who would think that a simple trip to the grocery store could require such diplomacy?

Well, the rest of the day was much more calm and relaxing. My sister went to work (she has a job--yay!!!) and I settled in for a leisurely day. I listened to podcasts on my computer and crocheted. Then when it was time, I curled up in a sunbeam and listened to General Conference, with my heart open to the inspiration I knew I would feel. I was not disappointed. The talks seemed aimed at comforting my troubled heart and were a soothing balm to my scorched spirit. I am so blessed to have the church and the Gospel in my life.

All day I crocheted, read, listened, and rested. When evening came and Conference ended, I went out for a good run through the neighborhood. It was delicous running past boys playing basketball, kids riding bikes, the park full of children playing and parents socializing, trees issuing forth their first buds and stray daffodils poking through trash in vacant lots. I even found a penny on the sidewalk. The gargoyles on the buildings of City College seemed to laugh at me, and I noticed a gorgeous mosaic of St. John on a church I'd never seen before, where people parked on the curb were unloading large pans of food and carrying them inside for some event. The life of this city is so beautiful, so rich--I see something fascinating every time I step outside my door.

Back at home, my sister arrived and celebrated her new job with a dozen donuts (By the way, they are building a Dunkin Donuts two short blocks from my house! This is going to be dangerous.) Her boyfriend came over and we played Scrabble to our hearts content. It was probably as near-perfect a day as I can imagine, all things considered. And today promises to be just as nice.

I've Still Got New York

Speaking of Marcel Duchamp, I came across some inspiring words from him:

"New York is itself a work of art, a complete work of art. Its growth is harmonious, like the growth of ripples that come on the water when a stone has been thrown into it. And I believe that your idea of demolishing old buildings, old souvenirs, is fine. It is in line with that so much misunderstood manifesto issued by the Italian Futurists which demanded, in symbol only however (though it was taken literally) the destruction of the museums and libraries. The dead should not be permitted to be so much stronger than the living. We must learn to forget the past, to live our own lives in our own time."

"I am interested in what there is to do, not in what I have done."

Suddenly, I'm coming up with burgeoning lists of things to do, projects to begin, artworks to produce, as if the onset of spring and the death of my own past is causing a surge of life to bubble up from unknown depths within. Last night I dreamt I was in hand-to-hand mortal combat with terrorists, and I won. This life never fails to amaze me.

A Lesson From Duchamp

Cubism is quite old-fashioned now, but when it first appeared in the United States, around 1909, it was shocking. At that time, America was still lagging behind Europe in artistic development, but catching up quickly. By the time World War I hit Europe, New York was set to become the center of new innovation and cutting edge art. A major factor in that shift was the incredible exhibition now known as The Armory Show of 1913. The show was put on by the Association of American Painters and Sculptors led by Arthur B. Davies and Walter Kuhn, who traveled to Europe to enlist artists such as Matisse and Picasso, as well as to secure works by now-established masters such as Cezanne and Van Gogh. The result was the monumental International Exhibition of Modern Art, comprised of about 400 paintings and 21 sculptures. It was organized to show the progression of modern art and contemporary art at that time, and it did a brilliant job.

Of course, the critics had a field day. The show created an overwhelming response from the public, who attended in large numbers, lining up for a chance to see Cubism and Fauvism for the first time. Of especial notoriety was Marcel Duchamp's "Nude Descending a Staircase" (pictured above.) This painting became one of the most widely parodied artworks of the time, being almost universally hated by its viewers. Completely removed from academic or classical principles of art, few could understand the artist's desire to give such a title to what looked like an "explosion in a kindling factory." Yet to emerging artists visiting the show, the new abstraction was liberating, and felt like a revolution.

In the preface to the catalogue of the exhibition, Frederick James Grigg wrote: "Art is a sign of life. There can be no life without change, as there can be no development without change. To be afraid of what is different or unfamiliar, is to be afraid of life. And to be afraid of life is to be afraid of truth, and to be a champion of superstition."

Reading about the Armory show late last night, these words hit me with a quiet force. I agree with Grigg that to reject change is to reject life. And yet, Theodore Roosevelt's response to the Armory show was with misgivings. He wrote that change may mean death and not life, retrogression instead of development. Duchamp's painting might be little more than the "faked mermaid of P.T. Barnum" exhibited as a folly without seriousness. If he is right, how do we know which change is good and which is bad?

I think the only way to know is to look with a dispassionate eye and use logic to pull oneself through the emotions of fear, as well as faith in a larger purpose. In the end, despite the fear of critics and the public people that it heralded the death of art, Duchamp's painting proved to be an amazing success, one of the most famous paintings of the 20th century, and heralded a new and prolific growth in art--an overwhelmingly good thing. I think the current changes in my own life are also good, even if they don't feel that way at present. I just have to remind myself that, as in art, I cannot lie in a comfortable rut--the only way to the future is by taking steps forward.

According to WikiHow

Sorry, readers, I just have to indulge this once, and then I will stop my whining. I'm positive that I will eventually find true love in my life, but it's just so hard to be in the midst of the un-true-love part of life. So I've been doing some research online, and this is what WikiHow says:

How to Fall Out of Love

1. Realize you are worth someone who loves you. You are worth someone who thinks you are beautiful and awesome. It's always flattering to have an admirer, but you deserve better than to just be somebody's ego boost.

2. See their faults. Nobody is perfect. The longer you hold on to the idea that this person is perfect, the harder it'll be to get on with your life. It's completely possible that you're idealizing someone just so that you can have a fantasy to hold on to. You should accept that this person is not perfect, and definitely not perfect for you -- because the perfect person for you would think as highly of you as you do of them.

3. Distance yourself. You won't want to, but staying close to someone you want but can't have just isn't healthy. Don't tell the person or anyone close to them what you are doing, as they might try to convince you otherwise. Just try to get away for a while. Don't call them, don't go places where you know they frequent, and make yourself scarce. Take the time to reflect on your situation and learn more about yourself. [Actually, he didn't even try to convince me otherwise and that is even worse!!!]

4. Date. While you are distancing yourself from said object of affection, try to meet people that you like. Don't settle for whomever asks you out, or you might end up making someone fall in love with you whom you don't love back! Approach people, try new things. You might want to compare everyone to the object of your affection, and you won't think anyone measures up. Stop this right now. You know there's someone better out there. Go find him! [Where? Where do I look???]

5. Do whatever you can to feel better about yourself. Exercise, eat well, take a class, meet people, go to parties, have fun. Life is too short to spend it pining for someone who doesn't see you for the great person you are! There are those out there who will. [Actually, some sort of crazy ex-girlfriend-style revenge would make me feel A LOT better, but I'm trying really really hard not to do anything.]

6. Try cognitive conditioning similar to a Pavlov's dog's response. Every time you obsess over this person try thinking about something repulsive. Pretty soon, you will start associating this person with repulsion, so that eventually the person's name will invoke disgust.

That last one is my favorite. Unfortunately, he made me really like the smell of beer mixed with cigarettes, so I can't use that. What is WRONG with me?