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?

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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.  

THE ART BARN

It might seem like cyber-hibernation.  But it hasn't been.  Mea culpa.  It's been a bee's life, not a bear's.

And so, it was a delight to slow down today during a visit to an artist's studio in the mountains.  If the drive through redwoods wasn't meditative enough, the mountain perch of the barn-studio was enough to soothe our souls …  except that the artwork was charged with contemporary energy!  So we happily swapped serenity for stimulation.

Our warm and gracious host was the prolific Bay Area artist, Sal Pecoraro.  A student of Richard Diebenkorn's in the 1950s, he made his own name with innovative public and private commissions all over the Bay.   When he showed us photographs of his works, we were all surprised by how often we'd seen them around.

Here he is with one of his Sky paintings,  a series he painted in the 1970s.  In the spirit of the Contemporary, we took a few selfies in front of it too, pretending to be outdoors.

Sal's site specific sculptures are house-sized versions of this piece on his table top.  He combines the geometric with the organic effortlessly in this Archaeo-Tectonic series from the '90s.

We took a short walk to the barn, where Arabian horses from its pre-studio days had chewed off the stable walls in boredom.  (I never knew that tidbit about horses, but the phrase "chomping at the bit" now makes sense.)  Many of Sal's vertical sculptures line the path.

The white stone/marble sculptures below reach out to me in an anthropomorphic way.  I almost want to pat them on the head, if you can call those heads.  (And I love the crumbling machinery, possibly still quite functional, all over the barn!)

You can sense the scale of his indoor pieces here versus the outdoor ones.   That one right outside the barn is small compared to his other sculptures in public and corporate buildings.

So, you all thought Angelina Jolie had the most famous lips?  For art students in Italy, David's (the one by Michelangelo) are more familiar!  That cast, apparently, is sold everywhere.  "Lips" is Sal's humorous take on it, down to painting it over in Van Gogh brush strokes.  I suppose David's ear would have been even funnier.

The stacks of art on the the barn floor reminded me of my friend's house.  Virginia, my dear friend (whom I now wonder might have been in the same Berkeley/Oakland art circles as Sal), still has her gallery full of art in every space conceivable, including floor stacks like this.  The thrill of the treasure hunt resurfaces every time we carefully riffle through the layers.  In Sal's stacks, you can see the diversity of inspirations that result in a piece of art - from holy icons to mundane keys.

But my favorite treasure-hunting thrill whenever I visit an artist's studio is the one of discovering forgotten corners.

Like stumbling on this Lilliputian collection of vintage vehicles, nearly swept under the rugs.

Or noticing the wall of pigments from years of wiping off the paintbrush.

And what about the views sprung by chance (or were they carefully orchestrated?).

And finally, there are the human touches of domesticity, like Sal's love of succulents and cacti, that frame our understanding of the artist beyond his works.

But clearly, this artist is most in his element when surrounded by his works and people who appreciate them.  We were enthralled by all his stories and life's wisdom, and many young artists in our group left inspired.

Our heartfelt thanks to Sal and his lovely wife for opening their home, studio and art to us!

This post is in memory of a friend in Art, who lost a brief but fierce battle with cancer today.  She had arranged this gathering at Sal's studio, fully expecting to be with us.  Alas, she could not, but her spirit and warmth were strongly present.  None of us expected it would be her last day.  When I heard, all I could think of was "out, out, brief candle."  I was blessed to have felt her warmth and light for the few years I came close to her flame.

DALI'S MUSTACHE

Mustache makeover, anyone?

Dali lathed his in wax. Groucho Marx' matched his brows.  Chaplin was fine with half.

What a menu ...  I think I'll try Dali's.

Tiered tulle skirt: charity shop treasure haul!

Whoops.  I guess not.  Even the book is laughing at me!

It's easy to adopt Surrealist habits when one spends a lot of time with them.  Or even if not.  This gem of an art book - a collaboration between Salvador Dalí and LIFE photographer, Philippe Halsman - takes only 10 minutes of your life and adds back more.  Life Surreal is hilarious.  

In case you're wondering why Dalí popped up here, I was in a meeting when colleagues noted I was dressed like Audrey Hepburn, ponytail and all (which you see here).  "Dali's Mustache" was published in 1954, around the height of Hepburn's popularity.  Dalí and his mustache were celebrities as well.  Alright, it makes no sense but perhaps that is Dalî's paranoiac critical method at work.

THERE AND BACK AGAIN

Exploring a WWII jungle hideout on an island
Guess which silhouette is mine.

Indiana Jones is back from the jungle!  If only my Panama hat could speak ...

It might brag of brim-to-breath encounters with Bengal tigers.

Tigers put their noses right up
to our caged jeeps in the jungle safari.

Or yawny dawns by the bay.

Ferries to islands cast off extremely early.

It might exaggerate scuffs from scrambling in ruins.

Mortar pock marks on buildings destroyed by WWII.
The jungle conveniently retook this island after the war.

More ruins from WWII barracks

Or marvel at banyan trees amid decay.

Defying the surrounding destruction, this banyan tree
was a central backdrop in my brother's film shot here.

It might groan at being hut-bound (while everyone was seaside)

Our snorkeling and diving retreat
obscured by coconut palms

or be peeved in the jeep (while everyone was at the falls)

Monsoon season provided tiers of waterfalls
from the top of the mountain cascading on down below this basin

But, pipe down, Panama!  I'll recount my own tales over several posts.

It's been a wild and wonderful summer abroad shared with family and friends. My fashionista friends might be surprised at how much clambering around one can do in "flatform" sandals and a deconstructed linen blazer (and of course, the Panama hat)!

How was your summer?

I SPY WITH MY LITTLE EYE ...

... the Capital's crown

The US Capitol Dome
sandwiched by gritty overpasses

...  starlight in a capsule

Leo Villareal's "Multiverse"
moving light sculpture at the
Concourse tunnel, National Gallery of Art

...  a sky aquarium

Alexander Calder's mobile, "Untitled",
in the National Gallery of Art's East Building Atrium

... shapes nestled in shapes

Ellsworth Kelly's colored paper images
leading to more Alexander Calder works
at the National Gallery of Art

... a rainbow menagerie 

Alexander Calder rooms in the
National Gallery of Art

... YELLOW! and red

Clyfford Still canvas
National Gallery of Art

... yellow and red underground

Washington, DC's futuristic Metro stations

... brown, baby ducks above ground

Mama and baby ducks by the
Reflecting Pool in Washington Mall

... a gated community with a view

The ducks' perspective of
the Washington Monument

... a monumental task

Scaffolding on the Washington Monument
for earthquake repairs

... and most importantly, monumental acts.

The Lincoln Memorial,
my favorite for its profound significance.
The Gettysburg Address is inscribed along the walls.

These photos were way overdue from my Washington, DC trip.  But since when did I care about chronology in this blog?

Wishing you all wonderful summers.

I'VE GOT THE BLUES

Cobalt.

Element number 27.  Symbol Co.  Derived from the ancient miners' nickname:  kobold, or "goblin ore."

Goblin ore?  Apparently, the sub-terranean Germans encountered noxious gases while smelting the cobalt.  Blame the pixies.

Summer necessities: iced lemonade and cold cantaloupe
I just noticed the moth-like reflection of the striped canopy
on the cobalt dishes.

I am tempted to digress down the etymological path of Germanic sprites, but, better get back on point.  The point being that cobalt blue is the perfect foil for summer.

Cobalt has been our table jewelry for years.  (Someone assure me that advances in metallurgy have done away with the toxic fumes.)  They are regal at Christmastime and refreshing at summertime.   This jumble of cobalt is part of a recent treasure hoard from a neighbor's estate sale.  We carted off the plates and glasses for a few dollars.  As surprising as goblin ore, eh?  So now, this is part of our summer outdoor wares.  At that price, I don't even mind if my husband breaks a few glasses.

OK, I can't seem to shake off the goblin and his kobold.  Who's to say fairies and sprites aren't involved in these summer blues?

This bright blue butterfly, though more cornflower than cobalt, came into the living room recently.  I was deep in thought, wading through art history books.  In flew this gossamer distraction which decided to sit by me.  A cousin declared afterwards that it was a "visitation."  (We must not be so different from those ancient Germans.)  If pixies wear many forms, a lepidopteran outfit must be at the top of their list for what-to-wear-today.

Polyommatinae (blue) sub-family of Lycaenidae butterflies
This one flew in, seen here on the floor near me

True to form, this mischievous imp sought to derail me from my work.  Gone were thoughts of the humanities and in came a search for species, habitat and behavior.  Fascinated, I discovered that many of these blue lycaenidae are rare in California.  Some also have a unique symbiotic relationship with ants -- protecting the cocoon in their host flower, a wildflower which happens to be in our back yard.

I don't know how this got lost in our house, but -- no kidding -- it kept trying to land on my floral pants!    Perhaps the kobold goblins lured it inside.

**************

Hope you are all having a terrific summer.  I will be gone for a month but hope to check blogs intermittently.

If you have lost your Google reader, you can continue to follow on Bloglovin.

SPRING OUT

Spring has sprung ...

...  and shadows now sprout flowers ...

De Young Sculpture Garden, San Francisco

...  and all that's left of Fall are memories of fallen apples.

As Time marches on, I seem to be dragging in the opposite direction.  I'm still in a state of forced indolence, mentally and physically.  So contrary to my usual hustling pace.  Too much triggers a relapse of symptoms.  Can you imagine having to cut back on reading, even thinking, bustling about and, saddest of all, ballet?  (I had to cede my roles for our ballet show.)  

Treetop blooms seen from our living room window

In this reduced state, I'm still fortunate to be able to enjoy the outdoors.  Even if it means I have begun to empathize with humble vegetables -- noble but immobile.  

Beyond commiserating with foliage, I've also taken a cue from the Duck Philosophy of Life:

• It's cool to chill in a shady pond 
• Just go with the flow

Ducks happily etching concentric circles
Vasona Lake, Los Gatos

The other day, I was out for a walk (my runs have been curtailed too).  I saw some ducks on the creek bank waiting for just the right moment to hop onto the current.  Then -- plop!  All strapped in, they rode the current like a water theme park ride.  They really meant it when they said go with the flow.


****

Hope you are having a marvelous springtime where ever you are!  And thank you for all the good wishes and messages of concern.

By the way, does anyone have a good way of eliminating spam messages without manually marking and deleting them?

LOST MY HEAD

I never thought that metaphor and hyperbole could morph into accuracy.

Fog by the Bay

Nothing quite like a concussion to thump home what it means to be in a fog.  Or, in the act of sustaining it, what it is to be stunned and dazed.  Spacey doesn't just describe the daydreaming kid in class next to you.  Words no longer exaggerate.  They convey reality in my post-concussion world.

Sunlight trying to pierce through
on a hiking trail by the Bay

For weeks now, it's taken concentrated effort to pierce through the mists.  Interesting things are easier to focus on.  But the mindless multi-tasking?  Forget it.  Literally.

It's been rather humorous to be a young(ish) person exhibiting Alzheimer's-like symptoms.  And for a while, I felt humor was all I had left.  During a follow-up test with a doctor to determine the extent of my concussion:

Neurologist:  Name as many words as you can beginning with the letter "f" in the next 60 seconds. 

Me: Ummm ... quickly editing out the first word we all know that begins with "f" ... ok, fundamental, foundation, fibula, ... nearly followed that with fistula, but figured the neurologist would think I was being facetious ... flabbergast, fiendish, furious, ... and so on 

Neurologist:  interrupting his own counting mid-60 seconds ...  I've never heard fibula nor flabbergast mentioned in these tests before.

Me:  Do I get extra credit for the quality of the words?

In truth, the only way for me to stay focused was to turn the question into a word game -- no monosyllabic "f" words!

From the bedroom window

Mind tricks aside, I've spent a lot of time recently lying in the dark and slowing my life down outside of deadlines and meetings.  (Too bad there's no slo-mo button for Life, or even freeze frame.)  Hopefully, I'll make better judgment calls next time on the ski slopes.  But the post-concussion experience is rather fascinating.  It's like being in someone else's body.  Or rather, someone else's head.

Good news: the neurologist assures me I will get my old brain back.

ALL HALLOW'S EVE

It's that time again, when Spirits join the world of the Living ... which one are you?

This is my favorite holiday of the year.  Spirits are unleashed, and along with them, unabashed creativity.  Uptight folk -  always afraid of looking ridiculous - finally find a great cover for loosening up.

Halloween also happens to be our wedding anniversary!  Revelers surrounded us in NYC during this full moon many years ago.  You wonder what odd people we are -- and yes, we are odd -- to have chosen this date.  Even odder is that my older brother and sister in-law got married on the same date many more years ago.  They had their own reasons.  Ours was simply the full moon.  The extended revelry was a bonus.  For that year, you could say our costume was Bride and Groom.

My mother passed down the philosophy that costumes are created, using anything in the house, rather than purchased.  She was a master at re-purposing scarves or discarded toilet paper cylinders!  I've kept that practice to this day.  So, everything I am wearing is either a gift (the Venetian mask, the beaded necklace) or from my closet (gloves, lace blouse, floor length skirt, hooded cape).  

Have a wonderful Halloween wherever you are!

AUTUMN BOUQUET

Forget my laments to bring back summer.  My attitude has turned along with the leaves.  I love Autumn!

Perhaps our nephew's wedding in Colorado had something to do with it.  Denver's picturesque foothills were painted over in russets, greens, and golds.  The bridal party's yellow ochres blended right in.  I wish I could post my shots from the wedding but I can't.  I will, however, share the radiant bride's brooch bouquet below.  Have you ever seen anything like it?

The Bride's Brooch Bouquet
I've never seen anything like it!

The estate where the wedding was held kept its historic charm.  Here's a glimpse of the mansion, The Manor House.  It was built in 1914 for a self-made millionaire, John Shaffer, whose modest beginnings were as a boot black.  His 28,000 acre cattle ranch used to surround this Manor House. Shaffer was also the editor-publisher of the Chicago Tribune and brought the arts to both Chicago and Denver.  This Manor House proudly entertained the likes of Presidents Theodore Roosevelt and William Howard Taft -- and now us!

The Manor House, Colorado
snapped from the car as we drove up the hill

But back to the wedding.  Our nephew, the jazz trumpeter, serenaded his Bride up the aisle with his originally-composed fanfare.  (I have a wonderful photo of him and his trumpet in the sunset.)  His band friends, mostly brass, encircled the guests on the hilltop.  So all those golden notes filled the brisk air, coating it in autumn sunshine.  To top it all, the vows were poems written or sung by the couple.  I just love weddings which truly reflect the couple's nature.

Our nephew and niece are decidedly outdoorsy, opting to give up the urban diversions of New York City, where they both attended graduate school, to move back to Colorado.  Fittingly, the pre-wedding Rehearsal Dinner was held at another scenic location, the Denver Botanic Gardens.  My camera lens fogged up on that cold, rainy evening.  But I did catch some amusing sights, like this fork in the road ...

Metaphor for life's choices?

... or this benign looking "Corn Maze" entrance -- which unexpectedly sprawls into an eight-acre corn field.  I lost my husband in it after he took some little kids in to the "maze".  They didn't surface for hours!  Luckily, there was cherry pie to reward the muddy, little troupers afterwards.  But perhaps, the kids thought it was one big adventure, and it was really just my husband who was concerned amidst the endless corn stalks.

Corn Maze needs to include "Bermuda Triangle" warning!

I took over 400 photos of family during this lovely excursion into Autumn.  I regret I can only share a handful, and not the most beautiful ones either.  This was my last look from the car as we drove to the airport, back to lush, green California.

Leaving my brother in-law's neighborhood
right by a horse ranch

Or so I thought.  Just today, I was out on a morning run in the hills. Amber leaves lined the dirt trail at my feet.  Autumn must have followed us home.

What is it like where you are?