The September Issue

The little Leo.
Sits at the edge
of the dock.
As the summer closes
and the small waves
lap under her legs,
She watches the glitter
at the edge of this
wood and the things
floating and thinks
about her season fading
away into the waves,
into the wind
away from her skin, her
mane, her cheeks.
And how she dreams of
having such grace as
the East coast seasons.



The Autumn came
with a confused yet somehow graceful transition.
It happened in the wee hours
of the first day of fall,
a Monday.
Things fell again.
They fall and fall and keep falling,
but the leaves haven't yet.
Like when they start falling,
start going brown and crunching,
What sense of loss
overhead and undertoe.
The Leo.
In her new season unknown.
Foreign winds impinging on her warm, lazy, electric summer.
She is elegant, but confused,
Autumn,
not knowing whether to weather warm rain and hot high suns
or chill her inheritors' hands into silk lined
pockets.
It gets darker now,
early in the evening.
The day shortening quickly.
Too quickly for a summer baby and her reliance
on the sun.
Her comfort in daylight.
The quick and beautiful month of September,
scrunched short and rushed by the last days of
August and the infringing chill of October.
The sky is so blue this time of year.
This month in particular.
Not long before it's dark at four and in the days
the sky is white and bright..

xo ac




p.s. Check out The September Issue, an intimate look into the inner workings at Vogue and the making of the infamous September 2007 issue of the magazine. I saw it yesterday evening..with such characters as Andre Leon Talley, Anna Wintour and Grace Coddington (<- amazing) leading the pack of diligent workers during the production of the 840 page issue and butting heads in the process, I think even the anti-fashionista would find the clashing quite interesting and the amount of work for one publication astounding. Thanks to my friend Joan Becker for recommending it...ciao.

paper trees in brooklyn

This past weekend was the Art Under The Bridge Festival in Dumbo where interactive art is installed throughout the Dumbo area of Brooklyn. Among the throngs of people and the fantastic digital graffiti, the installation that stood out for me was The Experience of Green show at the Dumbo Arts Center (DAC). And well it should because I stood in line for nearly an hour to see it. I am a big fan of the outside-inside effect. I have tree branches as curtain rods and piles of dirt around my living spaces. Maybe it's a symbol of consciousness overtaking ego and the material world. I don't know, but the world created by Wade Kavanaugh and Stephen B. Nguyen was phantasmagorical. Encased within the unyielding framework of glass, brick and metal of the DAC they manifested a winding network of gnarled scarlet trees and vines entirely created from red craft paper. It's stunning upon first sight, walking into this indoor forest but the most exciting part for me were the caves and crevices you could wander into and become completely enveloped in. Some of these recessed areas were very dark, cozy little spaces. Others had skylights that filtered in glimmers of crepuscular light. The visual sensation was that of scuba diving through a cave and looking up to see the ripples of light filtering down through the layers of brine and kelp. I could stay in one of those little spaces for hours in contentment. The photos do the exhibit no justice.

The exhibition runs through November 29th. For details go to http://www.dumboartscenter.org/.

Lightning Strikes

I love the feeling of when a new idea hits...It feels somewhat like what I imagine being struck by lightning to feel like...You get all excited and crazy and can't write anything down because you're thinking through your ideas at what feels like a mile a minute...I love it!

The subconscious rumblings of a lightning storm started 2 days ago, during an interesting conversation with my hub and some friends of ours about how they always used to find dead dogs in old lots and whatnot in the city...They figured people were just getting rid of them...What a hell of a way to go, left in a lot to decompose...gross...

Anyway, that stuck with me and yesterday I found this story online about a cat someone duct taped and left in a North Philly yard. (Someone found it and called the SPCA and they saved it...I heard its name is Sticky, which I thought was awesome.) So I'm staring at the photo of this cat and thinking that I should sculpt it...because it was just so sad and cute and that's kind of my thing, you know...And then I was thinking about how alot of people in the area of the city that I live in have no regard for anyone or anything...not their kids, their pets, their houses, not even themselves...SOOOOO my thoughts have turned to the idea of using these stories of dead, abused, etc animals to convey how people treat themselves and those around them...Still very much in the beginning stages, but I'm excited nonetheless...

Yinka Shonibare MBE, will you marry me?

 

On Saturday I discovered the new love of my life in the art world.  Yinka Shonibare MBE.  I had been dying to see his show at the Brooklyn Museum since the posters went up around the city but I only just managed to slip in under the wire the day before the exhibit closed.  Before even knowing anything about Shonibare's objectives I fell in love with his sculptural installations.   Among my favorites are Leisure Lady (With Ocelots), Gallantry and Criminal Conversation and The Swing (after Fragonard).  There is a seductive decadence in the layers and layers of elaborately ruched fabric in colonial style, which contrasts wonderfully with the flamboyant and playful patterns of dutch wax fabric.  His sense of humor and irony are palpable before even reading his artist statements.  His choice to leave his characters headless, partially to create racial ambiguity, deeply resonated with me of course because in most of my work I also exploit ambiguity in not allowing the viewer to see the face of the characters.  Shonibare explains that his gravitation towards the use of dutch wax fabric stems from the concept that it is such a culturally African look on the surface, but this is fake because in fact those fabrics were made by Dutch and English factories and shipped to Africa which reasserts the idea of European colonial control even on the most basic cultural levels.  

By the time I reached his photo series, Diary of a Victorian Dandy, I had nearly had a cerebral aneurysm in my excitement.  I really love elaborately staged photographs that have a complex narrative and heaps of details to dissect and these images were brimming with these qualities.  Inspired by the satirical art of William Hogarth this series pictures a day in the life of the Victorian Dandy with Shonibare as the central character.  The images show that the dandy rises at 11 am, attends to his business at 2 pm, plays billiards at 5 pm, attends a recital at 7 pm, and partakes of an orgy at 3 am.  All the while surrounded by doting white servants and admirers, Shonibare plays with the idea of the dandy as an outsider.  My feeling in viewing and interacting with Shonibare's work is that I have entered a mirror world.  He makes reference to classical paintings and clothing styles and eras we all know, but flips them a little bit while still making them feel totally believable.  

Another piece this feeling really struck me with was Odile and Odette, based on the ballet of Swan Lake.  Two dancers mirror each other separated by a frame.  One dancer is white and one is black but everything they do and what they are wearing and their physical builds are exactly the same.  I got the sense that on opposite sides of the mirror world things operated more or less the same only on one side of the mirror it was Europe that was colonized and on the other side it was Africa that was colonized.   Shonibare's work has qualities of activism but without the angry moralizing that a lot of activist art seems to have.  Shonibare seduces the viewer in a playful celebration of excessiveness and decadence while expressing what could be, what was and what is.  There is so much more I could say but I will hold off for now.   All of this is hugely inspiring for some photo ideas that I’ve had for months but procrastinated on starting on!  Ahhh Yinka Shonibare I love you!

Shecky's Girls' Night Out, Part II

In case you're just tuning in, you can find below a post from last week in which I itemized the contents of a goodie bag I received at an event a few weeks ago.

A good friend had heard about Shecky's Girls' Night Out, an evening that promised shopping, drinks, food and whatever else it is that women love to spend their money on. For $25, we thought it would be a hoot. Upon entering the giant site of the event, we knew that whatever it was we were expecting, this was not it. To set the scene, the giant room was filled with rows of tables where vendors (of clothing, makeup, handbags, etc.) were hocking their wares. At the far end of the room, there were two bar stations set up, one with bottled beer selections and the other with cutely named vodka cocktails. Oh, and women. Hundreds, if not a thousand or more, women. Here are my observations, in no particular order:

• There was no one "type" that stood out more than another. These women were of all shapes, sizes, ages and ethnicities. The only constant was, of course, gender.
• I've been in a number of "open bar" situations and, regardless of circumstance, there is always a long line at the bar. In this case, there was a small line for the cocktails, but relatively no line for the beers. Each time I went to get one. In contrast, the lines for the only "food" being offered [bite-size portions of Lean Cuisine paninis hot out of the microwave] snaked through dozens of tables. Worth the wait? Definitely not.
• People in crowds move slowly with no regard for those around them. Removing men from the equation does not change this annoying fact.
• I likened the quality of sound in the cavernous, estrogen-filled room to a beehive. Many indoor-appropriate voices that never, ever stop. This was very different from a mixed sex crowd.

After three beers and no more than an hour, both my friend and I agreed that we had seen enough. We picked up our goodie bags and headed to the nearest bar. It was there that we spread out the goodies and found that the contents could be divided into two piles: products targeting women that have sex, and products targeting women who don't. We laughed and laughed while dividing them up, but in re-examining the freebies I thought about how this tied in with a theme that recurs in the collective like clockwork - the dualities present in every woman.

As for the items themselves, here's a couple examples to illustrate what I'm talking about. Most are pretty straightforward, but almost all could be assigned. Women who have sex: the bikini cream, the mini-toothbrushes, the Alka-Seltzer hangover pills. Women who don't: the microwave brownie, the romance novel, the sunblock. Some even had counterparts - bulky maxi pads for the sexless, ob tampons in their own discrete carrying case for the sexed.

And, of course, this leads to the question of whether they're for two different women, or two different sides of every woman. To cite another Mad Men example (my present obsession), there was an episode where they were coming up with a new ad campaign for Playtex, who wanted to tap into the sexiness of Maidenform advertisements. One of the lesser characters came up with an inarguably good idea - to play on the idea of all women fitting into one of two archetypes (Marilyn or Jackie) and having a bra for each. Don, being the brilliant heartbreaker that he is, added the twist that each woman embodies both of these personality types.

But is that the case? There seems to be an obvious answer -- that within each of us exists both sides of the coin. But, I'm not so sure that I buy it. Sure, our behaviors and attitudes at any given time might fall into either category, and of course there is a spectrum rather than a dichotomy, but when I look around at my friends, and myself, I have no trouble assigning a type.

Nesting...

Apparently this is me...I'm nesting...

So I mention on Facebook the other day that I'm doing bills, organizing and cleaning...fancy grown up stuff. Someone comments that I'm nesting. I was like "WTF? This isn't fun! I thought nesting was like...cute, fun stuff, like painting baby's room and picking out little baby booties and things like that!" Apparently no...nesting can be plain old boring cleaning, without baking pies or anything else seemingly more fun than cleaning...I looked it up online and read that it can even be very intense cleaning, like scrubbing things you've never cleaned in your life (under fridge, ewww...) However I am happy that for me the nesting instinct has included organizing all my art documents, including starting to make sense of my 20 different mailing lists, making a press binder, organizing old show cards, etc, etc, etc...
Here's how nesting goes...according to a random internet source:

Nesting Instinct

Around the fifth month of pregnancy, the "nesting" instinct can set in. This is an uncontrollable urge to clean one's house brought on by a desire to prepare a nest for the new baby, to tie up loose ends of old projects and to organize your world.

Females of the animal kingdom are all equipped with this same need. It is a primal instinct. Just as you see birds making their nests, mothers-to-be do exactly the same thing. The act of nesting puts you in control and gives a sense of accomplishment toward birth. You may become a homebody and want to retreat into the comfort of home and familiar company, like a brooding hen. The nesting urge can also be seen as a sign of the onset of labor when it occurs close to 40 weeks of pregnancy.

Nesting brings about some unique and seemingly irrational behaviors in pregnant women and all of them experience it differently. Women have reported throwing away perfectly good sheets and towels because they felt the strong need to have "brand new, clean" sheets and towels in their home. They have also reported doing things like taking apart the knobs on kitchen cupboards, just so they could disinfect the screws attached to the knobs. Women have discussed taking on cleaning their entire house, armed with a toothbrush. There seems to be no end to the lengths a nesting mother will go to prepare for her upcoming arrival.

This unusual burst of energy is responsible for women ironing anything in the house that couldn't out run them. Being preoccupied with ant killing, squishing them one at a time for weeks on end. Packing and unpacking the labor bag 50 times. Cleaning the kitchen cupboards and organizing everything by size to the point that you make sure the silverware patterns match when it's stacked in the cutlery drawer. Sorting the baby's clothes over and over again is a favorite theme. Taking them out of the drawers and re-folding them, putting them away and doing it over and over again. Nesting will provide interesting stories for years to come.

Nesting can be one of the more humorous aspects of pregnancy. One that you and your partner are sure to laugh about in the years to come...if he ever forgives you for sending him off to work and ripping down all the wallpaper in the hall! You may laugh about it now but you probably won't laugh when you're in the middle of it. No one can pull you out of it no matter how silly your behavior may seem. It simply becomes something that you must do!

Ok, now I feel less crazy...but do think that maybe there will have to be art made about this...maybe birds in a nesting frenzy, wrecking a house in the process...we'll see.....

Weird Shit I Put In My Mouth.

Well, I've been MIA for a couple of weeks and that's because I've been in Cambodia and Vietnam! And you may be hearing quite a bit about that for a while because Asia really filled my senses. Two amazing places full of beautiful, resilient people. I can't help but start out with the food because right off the bat I knew I was entering an exciting new culinary horizon and I tried to experience this to the fullest. All of my film is still at the lab but provided are some quickie digital photos we took for reference.

A huge highlight in Ho Chi Minh City were the Vietnamese Pancakes, a rice crepe made from Bánh xèo (sizzling cake) flour then filled with shrimp, pork, and onion. Add some mint leaves. Wrap in mustard leaves. Dip in nuoc cham sauce. Come in your pants.

Corn Milk! From what we could gather, Cambodians are crazy about corn. Not just corn as part of the processing of the product like us corn-crazy Americans, but corn as a flavoring. Like some crackers we got that were basically two Ritz crackers sandwiched with Oreo cream only the Oreo cream was the flavor of corn. Here I am testing out some Corn Milk. It was sweet, milky and yes, corny. Kind of like liquid cornbread.

There were lots of street vendors in Ho Chi Minh City who sold fried egg sandwiches. The egg is literally fried in heavy oil then slapped into the freshest baguette imaginable with cilantro, daikon, shredded cucumber and hot sauce. We loved that they wrapped this one in scrap paper with computer directions on it.

I have to say, without a doubt, I had some of the best soup in my life in Vietnam and Cambodia. The Phở goes without saying, but even slurping down some of the murky looking soups at roadside bus stops or at the average street food vendor was a transcendental experience. There is something crazy going on with the flavor that you just can’t get here. Not intense as in just plain old spicy, but like all of the flavors in the soup combined and multiplied by 1,ooo. A burst of umami.

There are stands by Tonle Sap in Phnom Penh selling fried insects- larvae, beetles, crickets, spiders. I had already tried crickets, grasshoppers and larvae (as well as a nest of ants that accidentally got baked into some baguettes we ate at the Angkor Temples…oops), so I went for a big ol’ tarantula. Let me tell you, it wasn’t easy because I’m terrified of spiders. He was big, fat and hairy. But when I finally took a bite of his spindly leg I was pleasantly surprised. This is what I had been terrified of? Slightly greasy, but also garlicky, spiced and savory. I ended up having another one before we left.

My final exciting foray into the world of Asian cuisine was a sizzling plate of chicken testicles, renowned for their positive effects on male virility. I preferred the tarantula. They were encased in a thin, tight membrane, like a sausage. The effect was like biting into a grape- that little pop. The inside was the texture of soft tofu. Despite the garlic they were served with, they were kind of bland. A bit gamey too. But the size was pretty impressive for a bird. Here my travel mate, Dani is inspecting a plate of cock’s testicles….err, roosters’ balls….