RORSCHACH AUTUMN

A Rorschach autumn by the water, taken during a walk last week.

Widewater on C&O Canal
Potomac, Maryland

(An old friend, who is in psychiatry, immediately asked, "So, what do you see???"  Of course, I've learned not to tell psychiatrist friends what I really think. One shouldn't bring up ailments with doctor friends either.)

I was taking a break from "heavy reading" in my nook last night and picked up one of Neil Gaiman's book/graphic novels, the kind that appeals to youth and adults simultaneously.  Gaiman weaves wonderful tales that seem to be suspended in time. This one is called, "The Truth is a Cave in the Black Mountains."

One paragraph struck me.

"I am old now, or at least, I am no longer young, and everything I see reminds me of something else I've seen, such that I see nothing for the first time... It is the curse of age, that all things are reflections of other things."

So, I paused and reflected.  It is true.  As time passes, the more we see the present mirror the past.  And I thought of how our identities are entwined in our memories - whether joyful events or incidents laced with pain.  We are what we remember to have done and experienced. Without the power to reflect, that inkblot view by the water is blurred by wind and waves.

Just a few days ago, I stumbled upon an article in Smithsonian Magazine on American Genius.  A duo of scientists had implanted a false memory in a mouse.  Whoa!  The science is certainly brilliant.  And there are many neurological applications for this type of breakthrough.  But some directions brought visions of "Total Recall" and "Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind" into view.  If we can't trust what we remember, can we know who we really are?  What then defines the "I" in Descartes' "I think, therefore I am"?  There are many who would support keeping painful recollections intact (rather than erasing them or making them falsely palatable) because there is value in what we learn through suffering.  Like many things, I sense this boils down to personal choice - just as some people opt for cosmetic surgery while others prefer to tell their story through the cumulative lines on their faces.

Autumn in the back woods, seen from our East Coast kitchen.
This is a new kind of view for us.

Memories are beautiful and necessary.  But the moment memories overtake active living, well, perhaps it's time to make new ones.  I admire artists - in any field - who break away from their successes in order to explore something different.  Beethoven, after criticism of his Wellington Symphony, charged back, "What I sh*t is better than anything you have ever thought." This was supported recently by two scholars. They put forward a novel view that Beethoven's creative development through the Wellington eventually led to some of the genius of the Ninth Symphony.

Change is rejuvenating, as our move from the West to the East Coast has been.  Last month's VelocityDC Dance Festival showcased the trajectory of dance from deep roots in classical ballet, modern dance, folk, Lindy hop, street dance and (human) percussion.  It was difficult to categorize what types of dance these energetic hybrids were.  Whatever they were, they were amazing!  Art forms would be dead if new creations weren't continually spawned from it.  Though one might love original stagings, we gain novel pleasure and enhanced insight from viewing a modern re-cast of a Shakespeare play or a Verdi opera.  Or take it further.  We've seen gifted writers fuse disparate genres into their own forms for which literary boxes haven't been constructed yet.

As I've participated in events in the DC metro area, I've noted an evolving engagement of young men & women in the cultural arts compared to what I remember from youth.  This milky (haired) canvas is now blended with espresso, russet and gold - perhaps a few blues, greens and purples too, but DC is still more conservative than London or New York.  Seasoned generations carry charm, grace and sprightliness.  And who else can we ply with questions about the past?  But the presence of the next generation adds the unexpected into the mix.  This constant swirl seems so vital in painting our future especially as our own color fades into milk.

So my musings end in colors of the past and colors of the future ... and as the paint swirls vanish, the Rorschach image I began with sharpens back into focus, saturated with autumn colors.

What do you see?

**********

I hadn't intended to write an essay here.  In fact, this was meant to be a brief photo sharing that glorious fall day by the water with its glassy reflection.  But, just as Miss Bates could not be constrained to saying only three dull things to Emma, I have my difficulties keeping a page blank!  I hope you are all having a lovely autumn.  

JEAN PAUL GAULTIER'S CORSETED WORLD

I've been looking forward to a scheduled tour of Jean Paul Gaultier's retrospective at the De Young Museum, The Fashion World of Jean Paul Gaultier: From the Sidewalk to the Catwalk.  That day has finally rolled around, and I'll be visiting it tomorrow with a group of women involved in the Arts.  I'm even considering wearing a corset-style dress to it -- if I wake up audacious enough in the morning.

Inspired by Jean Paul Gaultier's corset fashion
To wear or not to wear to the exhibit?
Dress: miha studio

Naturally, any discussion of Jean Paul Gaultier is accompanied by images of bustiers and corsetry, bound onto iconic faces in pop music and film.  In his own way, Gaultier emancipated women from corsetry's connotations of helplessness and, instead, infused them with power.  We are definitely not the weaker sex in Gaultier's bustiers ...

Madonna's Blond Ambition Tour, 1990
"Cone bra" by Jean Paul Gaultier
Photo source: Google Images

... not when ladies like Madonna show us how to don them.

Actually, now that I examine the design below, another strong female is brought to mind: the Valkyrie, Brünnhilde.  I am mentally finishing off this outfit with a horned Viking helmet, accompanied by charging Wagnerian strains.

Madonna's "Cone Bra"
by Jean Paul Gaultier
at the Exhibit
Photo: Emil Larsson

I read somewhere that Gaultier's "cone bra" was inspired by antique breast plates worn by Italian soldiers.  It is no surprise then that his corsets announce Offense rather than Defense, with such armed origins.  

Gaultier's fascination with the corset began early on in his life, upon discovering his grandmother's.  He then created a paper version, summarily pinning it onto his teddy bear.  This prophetic teddy bear is apparently on display too.

STILL-NESS

"A great free joy surges through me when I work ... with tense slashes and a few thrusts, the beautiful white fields receive their color and the work is finished in a few minutes." 

                                                            -- Clyfford Still, Abstract Expressionist artist

Clyfford Still Museum
Colors, including this visitor's electric blue,
startled me out of my winter doldrums!

Clyfford Still Museum
You can sense the monumental scale of the art.
I love the sliver of red-orange, like sunset on the horizon,
struggling not to sink into the twilight

I'm finally back from the snow-laden slopes of Colorado.  A few hours before our flight home, we decided to swing by the new Clyfford Still Museum in Denver, housing roughly 95% of this reclusive artist's works.  Still was a force in the Abstract Expressionist Movement though he broke away from the art world at the height of his creativity.

Clyfford Still Museum
Color and texture via palette knife and trowel

Clyfford Still Museum
Colors and forms on white canvas

The Still Estate bequeathed nearly his entire oeuvre to Denver.  The lucky city had agreed to carry out the artist's stipulation to only show his works in its (near) entirety.  No competition from fellow abstract expressionists -- Mark Rothko, Jackson Pollock, etc. -- to distract from his work!  Now I understand why the San Francisco MoMA had an entire gallery of Clyfford Still paintings.  He refused to share walls with his former friends!  

Clyfford Still Museum
The architecture was specifically designed to house Still's works

Clyfford Still Museum
Natural light through holes in the ceiling

We discovered more interesting objects in the basement, like his personal effects.  Still may have lived on a farm but his tastes in literature and music were quite sophisticated.

Clyfford Still Museum
Still's personal effects -- including LPs of opera and classical music,
his book collection and typewriter -- were in the basement

Clyfford Still Museum
I love the hint of cyan marching off the frame

It was marvelous to be enveloped by some of the most original art of the 20th century.  As Still himself said,  "It's intolerable to be stopped by a frame's edge."  Fortunately, we were engulfed by his colors!  

Interestingly, these eye-opening hues were the harbinger of springtime back in California.  Apple, plum and cherry blossoms greeted us upon our return.  Much like his splashes of color against a snowy canvas.

I hope you have all been well and I will catch up with you soon!

PRIESTESS OF THE SUN

I've decided to throw Brevity out the window.  The words won't stop tumbling out of my mouth (or keyboard as it were).  So I ramble on ...

This past weekend, I had the rare opportunity to go behind-the-scenes at the Rosicrucian Egyptian Museum in San Jose.  Imagine touching artifacts over 5,000 years old, deep in the Archaeologists' cupboards.   I could sense the magic and history right beneath my blue-latexed fingertips.  A High Priest could have blessed these!  Or a Pharaoh commissioned them!

"High Priestess of the Sun" for some unidentified religion
(I wanted better photos but the pool party hubbub uphill
kept interrupting my reverie.  I stopped after 3 attempts.)

Antique kaftan from Morocco.  Ventilo jacket underneath.  Feathered mask.

THREE LITTLE MAIDS

Too much Architecture and too little Ballet is wreaking havoc on my geometries.  I see soft curves instead of hard edges.  Flat planes instead of arches.  Worst of all, circumferences are expanding!

This Foolish Aesthete needs a return to the intensity of rehearsals and backstage camaraderie, the way it was during our photo shoot.

I snapped my friends here "behind the scenes" as we were all getting ready for the photo shoot.  The studio -- normally our temple of discipline and artistry -- was demoted to dressing room.  Ballet bars morphed into hanging racks for tutus.  Mirrors reflected hair and make-up, not elegant feet and fingertips.

Ballerina friends: S, Y & Y
Preparing for our photo shoot,
In our black tutus
Photo: The Foolish Aesthete