Realistic Dreams

I had this dream that I was trying to cross the Golden Gate Bridge. When I got to the beginning where it's ocean and not rocky shore line, a deep heavy fog swarmed everything that was underneath and all that was below.

I panicked.

I couldn't move forward and I froze.

"I can't!" I yelled.

"I can't. Not without seeing what is below or ahead. I can't move."

It's so weird that that is exactly how I am feeling now. I am at this point where there is a bridge I must cross: I've come to the end of university life and much cross the bridge to what's next. Yet I have no idea what is ahead of me nor do I know what will catch me should I fall. I'm scared and frozen. I don't want to move forward without knowing what I am moving towards. I've always known what was next and now, suddenly, I don't.

In fact, I feel so devastatingly lonely. I feel as if I am going to fall off the edge and will remain a nobody, forgotten, swallowed by the monstrous fog. I'm going to leave where I live now and be forgotten. Someone else is going to move into my apartment. The University town will have a complete turnover and all that made it what I know will have vanished. I will have made it through my 5.5 years of college without building any lasting friendships... instead destroying (even if unintentional) the only ones I had. I will have made it through college single. My one great adventure was France and now that's passed. What's next?

Void. Fog. A bridge that links me to what? To who?

Meet Maiden - My New Deaf Kitten

About two weeks ago, I was walking to work and decided that since I was early I would take a moment to visit the kittens at a pet store that was on the way. The store allows everyone to play with their kittens and puppies. Usually it's packed with high school students, freshman, or mothers with small children and as a result the animals are exhausted but since it was a week day morning I found the rooms empty and the kittens ready to be loved and entertained.

I was being swarmed by many playful tabbies and didn't notice the approach of a sweet-eyed pure white kitten. She greeted me by gently pouncing on my knees, then she looked directly at my face, our blue eyes staring at each other with equal amazement and curiosity. She settled right into my lap and after having the benefit of my full attention, she settled down on a blanket next to me.

After about an hour I forced myself to walk away. I had to be to work but before I left I mentally selected two kittens that I would hypothetically take home with me if it were only the right time. I even picked out names. Of course she was one of them and after some deliberation, I settled on Maiden - as in Fair Maiden and also because the name reminds me of Maid Marianne from Robin Hood.

Then I got too busy to dwell on them though my heart still ached for a kitty.

A friend came to visit this week and one morning we decided to visit the little store and play with the kittens and puppies. Maiden was still there. Her big blue eyes had changed to brown but she was still just as cunning. She melted my heart, she was clearly the loveliest of all the kittens that were there. It was during this visit that I realized she might be deaf. She seemed a bit overwhelmed by the others who were far more rambunctious and she appeared to be unresponsive to any noise.

None the less, I left without her and without any intention of adopting her.

The next day I told my fellow interns about her. I told them that I thought she was deaf and that she was just a gorgeous, sweet docile kitten which was exactly what I was wanting especially with Jadie. I don't know if it was the lack of sleep I had been getting, my realization that my life had ceased to be spontaneous, or simply that she had melted my heart completely and I knew I could provide the best home for her, but after sitting alone in the office for 30 minutes I decided to get her.

I was meeting a friend to give a ride home and asked her if she would like to help me get one. She has heard me talk about getting a kitten for the past year. Today was the day for action. Within the hour Maiden was in my arms and we were headed home!

I kept the name Maiden and have been doing research on caring for a deaf kitty. We have a vet appointment tomorrow and I am looking for visual toys and little beds or stuffies that vibrate so she can feel something when she is in bed. I am working on training her already and while she was the most docile at the pet store, a little tyrant monster cat is beginning to blossom.

I'll post updates and you should know that I am as happy as ever! I feel as if I am "home" for the first time in months, possibly even years. It's amazing the joy a pet can bring to one's life.

Jokes from the Public to the Art

Mark Rothko, Yellow and Orange, 1956

Check out this beautiful, pulsating, mesmerizing Rothko painting. I love the tones of yellow and orange and though yellow is by far my least favorite color, Rothko uses it in a way that makes it so much more alluring. It's not about the yellow. Nor is it about the orange. I love color field abstract expressionism!

Now here is the funny.

Mark Rothko Post-it, Artist Unknown

I couldn't help but die of laughter when I saw this! it's a delight. Nothing beats a shared sense of humor with my morning cup of coffee.

Of course artists know how to make jokes too. My perfect example I learned about while writing my graduate school application writing sample.

Gustav Klimt, Gold Fish, 1901-02

Klimt wanted to title this To My Critics but was dissuaded by his friends although I think they got the message. Thank goodness he didn't stop because of a few negative reviews, well more than a few, but none the less. Of course, the world never forgets to serve you up some irony. His greatest works were destroyed in a fire during one of the world wars.

The public has picked up on this attitude: the fun and personality the artists has with their work and how it is approached. To think artists don't have a sense of humor is just silly. That's why I loved this joke I found. Sense of humor vs. no sense of humor, and Laughter always wins.

je t'aime

Robert Motherwell of the New York School, Je t'aime Series, 1955

Well I am in the final steps of preparing for my Gallery Talk. Today I printed up some visual aids to help remind people of who Rothko and Motherwell are - though I am sure most people must know who Rothko is, at least I should hope, I was surprised when my friends weren't familiar with his work and how do you describe a Rothko? I also printed up a Cézanne that looks a lot like a painting in our collection and a Matisse that I really like and that inspired one of the artists.

Henri Matisse, L'Atelier du Quai St Michel, 1916

This is the Matisse. I love how reminiscent it is of Paris. I know the very apartment he is in, not really, but in experience and familiarity with the real aspects of the city I undoubtably do. I love the floors, the slanted tables with the carved legs, the grey walls, and the window that looks out to l'île de la Cité and the steeple to St. Chapelle. Or is it a window? It could also just be a poster hanging on the wall as it would be in my very american apartment in a town that couldn't be any more separated from Paris except for the few parisians who come to the coffee shop I work at. At least knowing how Matisse progresses with his window/painting trickery later in his career, you want to ask yourself the legitimacy of the genre painting.

What I love about this one is that it's not so blatant. This really does look like a shabby peasant apartment in the Latin Quarter of Paris and I can relate to that more than his Southern France luxury paintings. I also love the presence of the artist seen in the three images on the wall and the work in progress on the left. I love his hesitation. This is a painting of Matisse I would love to buy - I mean a replica of it... haha

Of course all of this has only a fraction do with what my talk is really about. This is only very secondary to the real point of my presentation. I took the liberty to invite some 30 people of which I am sure only 2 will show up. I almost prefer it this way and would feel very comfortable among faces I didn't know.

The truth is I have researched this for weeks and know more than any other person that will be present. I'll be the authority. Even the curator that helped me won't be able to make it. If I feel like saying the painting is really about a big pile of shit, I have the authority to do so and with enough flowery artsy-fartsy language, I am sure I can convince them of it!

Secret Painting I will Reveal Next Week

Move Review: The Ugly Truth

The ugly truth is that this was an ugly movie. While multiple things were wrong right from the start (Katherine Heigl trying to be what Sandra Bullock was to The Proposal, you know, the demanding boss totally in control, was problem no. 1), the worst was the shallow plot with bad acting/directing. 

While Mike and Colin represent every man (shallow, sex hungry, chauvinists), Abby represents every single woman ("frumpy," controlling, dorky, and love-deprived both emotionally and sexually).  

Mike sets out to correct Abby's imperfections, which do in turn land her the dreamy neighbor for whom she knows nothing about and yet has fallen head over heels. Being herself leaves him uninterested so she is convinced that she must hide who she is in order to make him fall for her. With Mike's coaching to pimp her out, she succeeds. 

Oh but wait, she is the controlling psycho Colin just so happens to be so familiar with (every single woman man has ever dated, right?) and is so glad she is not. Or so he thought. And meanwhile, the ring-leader of chauvinism (think Adam Carolla from The Man Show) has fallen for the imperfect woman he went out of his way to perfect. 

Message: Assholes do have a soft spot that comes out once they find the perfect woman. After all, men are all just damaged from one woman or another which the perfect imperfect one will fix.

Message: Have hope, you are the perfect woman for assholes so long as you are yourself.

Message: Lower your standards, the perfect man doesn't exist. 

Message: Inside every single woman is the dream girl, she just doesn't have it harnessed. 

Message: All this means love does exist.

So the "i love you" at the end works. She falls for the man she didn't want, he fell for the imperfect woman. and in the end we realize we have watched a film that never went anywhere, that was entirely too predictable, and worst yet, was a chick flick that resulted in making its audience feel like crap about themselves rather than pep them up for another go around at love.

As a society, haven't we moved beyond this kind of crap?

If I were to grade this, I'd throw it away and give the student an Incomplete.

More Art

As I mentioned before, I am interning at a museum this summer. It's funny I decide to write about this now as my internship is almost over - only 3 more weeks! 

Most of my time has been spent collecting information on artists and their prints that have found their way into our collect, however, lately I have turned my attention to my impending Gallery Talk. I love what I am learning! Never before has the art of America post WWII seemed so captivating. Is Pollock just grey splatters on a monumentally large canvas? I think not. How about a symbol for freedom and wealth in America? 

I love context. A painting is never just a painting - despite many artists' efforts to make it just so. A painting always involves multiple layers from various vantage points. You have the painting, the question posed by the artist who painted the painting or the idea/constraint the artist was trying to break through the painting, you have the influences to the artist (other artist friends for example), you have politics, society, culture, personal background, history, the artists accounts, good critics/bad critics and finally you have why I am absolutely enthralled by art. 

Check out this painting -

Roses for Stalin. Stalin-era (1949). Painted by Boris Ieremeevich Vladimirski. Oil on canvas, 100.5 x 141 cm.

I love that you have scary-man Stalin being adored by children. It's such propagandist bull shit! Not only in the subject matter, but in the academician rendering - it is certainly done in a passé style. We're talking France circa 1860. The same year (1949) this was painted, Rothko painted this beauty now proudly owned by MOMA. 

No. 3/No. 13 Mark Rothko (American, born Latvia. 1903-1970) 1949. Oil on canvas, 7' 1 3/8" x 65" (216.5 x 164.8 cm). 

Freedom to do whatever you wish. Freedom to create. Freedom to become an American no matter where you were born. Of course, this was propaganda too - the government did pay artists to create these kinds of work, however, the artists were allowed the freedom to follow their own muse and not the Communistic muse of a dictator (Black-List Hollywood of the 50's ring a bell?). And I am aware that I am generalizing and leaving out some very important ideas/points/arguments - but this is a blog, and not my book nor an examination. Of course I will elaborate if you wish. 

All this enthusiams and yet this has little to do with my Gallery Talk. My gallery talk comes a few years later. The 60's and 70's. And instead of New York City vs. Europe/The Soviet - I'm focused on NYC verses California. Welcome to the Bay Area School of Neo-Figurism and Funk Art. Which leads to a whole new blog entry! I think this is enough art for one evening. 

While my head is not consumed with the validification of Abstract Expressionism and politics in the arts, I am standing for 8 hours making lattes and getting to know new partners at the coffee shop as we seem to be in a period of turn-over with newly graduated undergrads heading out to begin their next chapter. I have also taken the time to turn my grumpiness and tired attitude about customer service into flirtation - which is working quite well! 

If only the days didn't seem to pass away without me even noticing!

i could make you ice cream

New Young Pony Club - ice cream

The New Sins - It doesn't work like that 

Ladyhawke - Paris is Burnin'