WONDER

iPhone pic of the "Wonder" exhibit
at the newly re-opened
Smithsonian Renwick Gallery, DC

Last night, I attended a lecture at the Smithsonian to support one of my favorite,  Hibernian Literature professors.  There is something wonderfully mad professor about him.  Sort of Matt Smith's "Dr. Who" but with a shock of white hair.  He can recite stanzas of W.B. Yeats then somehow segue into an odd detail from a Quentin Tarantino film.  In any case, his enthusiasm for Irish men and women of letters began generations beforehand.  His grandfather worked in Coole Park for Lady Gregory and his family had many informal interactions with literary giants like Yeats.  He himself read Literature in Trinity College following Oscar Wilde and Samuel Beckett.

Back to the Smithsonian lecture.  The talk was on Irish Drama.  We were basking in the brilliance of Yeats, Wilde, Shaw, and more from a mix of old photographs, BBC recordings, and documentaries.  I was rejoicing in passive enjoyment until, right before the end, we were handed an unfamiliar script, unfamiliar to me anyway.  What's a Drama class without a play reading, a cold reading at that?

So continues my life as Forrest Gump, in the company of people far more prepared for the current situation than I am. There were theatre professionals in the audience.  But that didn't include me!  I've never done any acting.  But as the familiar face in a sea of faces, I was pulled to read Pegeen's lines in a segment of J. M. Synge's "Playboy of the Western World."  I can only hope everyone forgives my butchering of Hiberno-English, in all its textured richness!  Perhaps there is some redemption in the original actors tripping over the language in the play's initial reading too. Synge had sought to bring out the ancient sounds of the Aran Islands, and Ireland wasn't quite ready for it.  As always with my mad professor, I learned something new even when I was expecting the familiar.  And -- I can claim to have had my acting debut at the Smithsonian.

There lies the Wonder.  Especially during this past year that we've lived in Washington DC, everything seems to be a first time.  New places. New people.  New experiences.  Even in Ballet, the style is so contemporary, so sharp, so post-Balanchine.  I'm learning a new movement language that feels natural and alien at the same time.  I finish most classes thinking "Wow.  That was different."

You sing in the shower?
I dance in the closet.


Taken last spring
right after getting home from ballet class

Artistic exploration is truly endless.  Isn't it marvelous even if one feels foolish in the attempt? OK, sometimes frustration is involved. One of my ballet teachers always reminds us that performances are a result of endless repetition and rehearsal.  By contrast, class is where we work on weaknesses and try new movements.  Having ridiculous moments are a given.  That goes for any type of creative exploration.

I am grateful for all the inspiration and encouragement surrounding me here and the wondrous things I learn every day.

How about you -- have you ever felt like a fish out of water, even in an environment you thought you knew well?

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.

GAULTIER GOTHIC

It's that time of year when witches and ghouls -- or Moulin Rouge Goths -- emerge from the bushes.  Trick or Treat.

It all began with my black, feather neck corset.  Tips in iridescent green seemed decidedly wicked.  Tulle seemed a deceptive accomplice.  It was all evolving into some Toulouse-Lautrec vision of Paris, with strains of Saint-Saën's Danse Macabre in the background.

Hmm ... Corsets.  Paris. Macabre.

...  I must really have been thinking of Jean Paul Gaultier!

Well, here's a Halloween Treat for you.  These are long overdue pictures from the Jean Paul Gaultier exhibit at the De Young Museum in San Francisco.  (His Moulin Rouge outfit was actually on a revolving catwalk, but I couldn't get a good moving shot in the dark.)

Happy Halloween!  What's your inspiration this year?

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PS Apologies if you have been seeing various template designs on this page.  Just trying to clean up the side bar!

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.

MIDNIGHT IN PARIS ... OR CALIFORNIA

Last week at the ballet studio, several people announced they were November-born, including two of the dancers below.  Lovers of life that we all are, we immediately declared a party at our house.

My friends in the rehearsal studio, two years ago.
They created stiff circles of tulle on the floor here.

Picasso or Cole Porter may not have been present, but it dawned on me that our impromptu soirée wasn't too different from a Paris-in-the-'20s scene.  We had dancers, artists, an actor, a musician, arm-chair philosophers (sometimes, even the real thing), and a scientist!  Just missing were the writers and poets.

Our Artistic Director (seated),
formerly from American Ballet Theater,
during our rehearsals

First off, our ballet Artistic Director was celebrating his birthday.  He had danced with world-renowned American Ballet Theater in New York prior to moving out West.  His pregnant wife was surprised his photos were in some of my old, ABT performance books.  (I used to attend ABT's season at the Metropolitan Opera House and pick up the books at the performances.  This was before I knew him personally - and before his wife ever met him.)  We reminisced about his old ABT friends - dancers I admired, even worshipped, and on my very lucky days, shared barres with in NYC. 

My dear friend, Virginia, whom I wrote about in Life is Beautiful, provided all the good bubbly as we celebrated her 86th birthday too.  Months ago, she had been generous enough to offer what gallery paintings we liked for our walls, and to rotate them until we'd found one we couldn't say good-bye to.  (Her art gallery overflows as much as her champagne collection.)  I was ecstatic to serve as her extended exhibit space.  So, we spent a fair amount of time clinking flutes in birthday toasts while engaging in art appreciation.  Now that's a civilized way to spend an evening.

Loaned to us from Virginia's art gallery.
I like discovering textures in it daily.
But is the marred surface
the result of her housekeeper's
vigorous cleaning?!

Another friend, a ceramic artist, was also a celebrant. Her works happen to be around our house too - from wabi sabi vases to our daily serving dishes.  Wabi sabi is a wonderful, Japanese aesthetic - defined by imperfection, transience, and natural beauty.  Does that concept speak to you?  It does to me, especially contrasted against geometric perfection.  We celebrated this theme by putting my friend's irregularly-shaped bowls and plates out for our little party.  (You can check out her whimsical creations here in Yukari Art)

An example of my friend's
wabi sabi vase
on the floor of our foyer

Let's see. We mentioned dancers and artists.  Now, the actress.  She had recently played a small part in a film scene with Vince Vaughn and Owen Wilson - yes, the protagonist at the core of "Midnight in Paris"!  She was still giddy from the experience.  Of course we pressed her, and she confirmed that Wilson is as cute and charming in life as he is on film.

Finally, the culmination of this evening out of Time was sitting by the piano while our musician friend played Gershwin and ragtime.  The live music punctuated our discussion on the origins of rag (which I never knew was a technical term - "ragging out time") and Jazz.  The genre couldn't have been more fitting that night. 

After all the champagne, music and art
Midnight in California

Sometimes, the best experiences are unplanned, fleeting, joyous celebrations of life.  Wabi sabi style.  I didn't even appreciate the evening until everyone had gone and I thought of writing this post.

Now, if I could only round up a poet or two for the next gathering ... 

SHADOW PLAY

My cousin and I chanced upon a marvelous Man Ray & Lee Miller exhibit at the Legion of Honor in San Francisco.  (You can follow the link for information and videos.  The exhibit ends soon.)  Though the focus of the exhibit was the collaboration and personal relationship between the two, the images rekindled my fascination for Surrealism and monochrome photography.

René Magritte, one of my favorite surrealists, once said (paraphrased here) that his paintings were meant to cloak the ordinary and banal in mystery.  Perhaps that is what I like about chasing shadows in black & white.  The resulting images might not necessarily be surrealist.  But they are cloaked in mystery.

So, I dove through my archives searching for old, black & white shadow images.

Branch shadows on our backyard wall
from the old house

Ordinary objects metamorphose and sprout new dimensions within their shadows.  Sometimes sinister. Other times, softened.  It's like trying to spot shapes in the clouds.  And who's to say what the truth is -- the tangible mass or the shadow it casts?  

Tree shadows on the backyard wall
from the old house

Interestingly, shadow scenes seem rather Oriental to me.  Perhaps because they bring to mind back-lit silhouettes, shuffling quietly behind Japanese paper screens.

Shadows in the Master Balcony
from the new house

Wouldn't it be great to slide the screen shut and melt into the shadows until ready to come out in full color?

WHAT IN THE WORLD?

When I was a little kid, I looked forward to my National Geographic Kids subscription with great anticipation every month.  My favorite part:  the "What in the World?" puzzles!  The page would be full of strange images, and my job as underage sleuth would be to figure out what it was.

I've felt like a kid all summer and seem to be seeing everything from the sand box eye view.  The following are my close encounters of the L.A. kind.




This zebra has opted to sit out extinction at the La Brea Tar Pits.

At the La Brea Tar Pits
Home of Ice Age fossil excavations.

If it rained golden, alien licorice, this might be what it would be like.

At the LACMA
(Los Angeles County Museum of Art)

Imagine Narnia with more than one of these, and Lucy Pevensie might have bumped into Mr. Tumnus in this forest.

In front of the LACMA
(Los Angeles County Museum of Art)

I was caught in this titanium vortex.  My experience inside was equally mind-blowing.

At the Walt Disney Concert Hall
Architect: Frank Gehry

I hope you view it with as much wonder as I did coming upon them.

I've been having a lovely summer spent mostly outdoors with family and friends.  As such, my computer keyboard has been missing my fingers.  But I do plan to pop into your blogs soon to say hello!

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.

BAD HAIR DAY

Medusa, I feel your pain.

Gian Lorenzo Bernini's "Medusa", c. 1644-1648
from the Capitoline Museums, Rome
Here on exhibit at the
Legion of Honor, San Francisco

OK, it seems petty to whine about not having had a hair dryer while on ski holiday, nor a haircut  in months -- not counting the ad hoc bang trims by the sink.  But, it does take extra effort, and a whole lot of tools, to get my hair into presentable, snapshot-worthy shape these days.  Far easier to present the Gorgon sister and her writhing locks instead.  You get the picture.

Gian Lorenzo Bernini's "Medusa", c. 1644-1648
from the Capitoline Museums, Rome
Here on exhibit at the
Legion of Honor, San Francisco

Actually, I really can't complain.  My inattention to my hair is plainly due to overcommitments -- and they're all wonderful, creative projects.  On the other hand, the Gorgon beauty seems unjustly punished by Minerva for catching Neptune's eye, cursing her with monstrous reptiles in lieu of her luscious locks.  (This is Ovid's perspective from "Metamorphoses.")  I doubt Medusa had wanted to spend eternity reviled for her Killer Look.  Hmmm ... the phrase gains new meaning.  I think Bernini tried to rectify that here with his sympathetic sculpture, the only representation I know of revealing Medusa's human anguish.

So, I did live without a hair dryer for a week and managed not to turn anyone to stone.  Braids and pig tails work best under a ski helmet anyway!

In braids (and helmet) all week
Ready to join the riders and skiers
outside the condo

Do you all spend a lot of time on your hair?  Or do you leave it au naturel?