tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-175209172024-03-19T14:36:37.940+02:00Impart Art - DailyMary Annhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14919523046521696675noreply@blogger.comBlogger222125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17520917.post-51343352438427179462009-02-17T22:23:00.004+02:002009-10-30T08:09:30.042+02:00Bye now<span style="font-family:georgia;"><br />
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Back when I started this blog this is what we all looked like:<br />
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<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2Hn-xWhtviZXlzEbzlRVNyPHid6_Cr3QvfCVZLhrTVZXZZEn1Z2gUTdYagYNSDhs7jsvV-J70REkakKVV7nVHT3SEK_YG93Gmbm6benid5E49ZSI8p_Ppv0m1uf7S7nJpf87d/s1600-h/Sept+12+05+003.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2Hn-xWhtviZXlzEbzlRVNyPHid6_Cr3QvfCVZLhrTVZXZZEn1Z2gUTdYagYNSDhs7jsvV-J70REkakKVV7nVHT3SEK_YG93Gmbm6benid5E49ZSI8p_Ppv0m1uf7S7nJpf87d/s400/Sept+12+05+003.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5303866447642868658" border="0" /></a><br />
But that was then, and <a href="http://hello961.blogspot.com/">this</a> is now. See you there. <br />
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</span>Mary Annhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14919523046521696675noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17520917.post-77917026079825268242007-08-25T08:39:00.000+02:002007-08-25T15:40:13.463+02:00The New Mini<span style="font-family:georgia;"><br /><br />Shrinky Dinks. They're remarkable, really. $5 for ten 8x10 pages of shrikable magic. For anyone unfamiliar with shrinky-dinks, here's the story. Plastic sheets that you can color/cut any way you want, and then bake for 1-3 minutes. In the oven they reduce to about 1/3 their original size.<br /><br />Here are some things that we've made recently.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWomLYgJECTS_0CVk56KxGtwWEA_kr12wPcSRuz3QmFe-GzkjwijQjF1sZYtB2awnaXOyKXDj_6Vk7x2KWQps0LWm-QbmaMsGOMx6ESGL-mLnyiuDBdww63MdRPxQHKFLODyDh/s1600-h/img065.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5102629309286250850" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWomLYgJECTS_0CVk56KxGtwWEA_kr12wPcSRuz3QmFe-GzkjwijQjF1sZYtB2awnaXOyKXDj_6Vk7x2KWQps0LWm-QbmaMsGOMx6ESGL-mLnyiuDBdww63MdRPxQHKFLODyDh/s400/img065.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />The odd shapes in the middle are Star's very own designs. I think they might make nice pendants. Any takers? Oma Bonnie? We used a hole punch (regular office size) to make the holes in each of the shapes so that they can be strung.<br /><br />As you can see, we traced my kids' hands and they colored them in. Star on the left and Dandelion on the right. Actually, Dandelion just scribbled all over a page and I traced her hand onto the already-there marks. Star really did color hers in, and if you look really close, you can see that she drew rings on her fingers.<br /><br /></span>Mary Annhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14919523046521696675noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17520917.post-29440746271531291932007-08-21T22:18:00.000+02:002007-08-22T05:19:10.098+02:00More Books<span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /><br />Today, <i>just for fun</i>, I made a list of all the books I've read <i>just for fun</i> this year. This is a big deal for me, because up until this year I have read books for two reasons: <br />1. I was supposed to for a class. <br />2. I had to convince and console myself that <i>yes</i>, I am cultured. <br /><br />It has been years since I read for the latter reason. Nearly a decade, actually. I can think one other time when I was bored out of my mind and started picking up books because I couldn't think of anything else to do. Yeah. Those days are long gone. It sure is nice to have such sweet memories. <br /><br />I'm not reading out of boredom these days. I just really like to read, and I think that has to do with my Thesis. Since I've had so much practice rewriting my Thesis I am now a really great rewriter, so I sometimes rewrite books as I'm reading them. I let myself think things like, "this is an intelligent idea but it needs to be further developed" or "this is an interesting sort of character, but he isn't entirely believable and that's preventing me from caring if he lives or dies right now" or "this ending is totally unsatisfactory because the book really ended a chapter ago and all this here is worthless". <br /><br />And since I mentioned my Thesis, I'll just add one bit more. It isn't done. But here are three books that I've read some or all of this year not for fun, but for my research. They've been useful.<br /><br />Tangled Memories by Marita Sturken<br />Remembering War the American Way by G. Kurt Piehler<br />Regarding the Pain of Others by Susan Sontag<br /><br />Even though these are not books I have read for fun, I've still rewritten them as I go. For example, I have wondered for quite a while how I would have rewritten this section of Regarding the Pain of Others:<br /><br /><i>. . . it seems a good in itself to acknowledge, to have enlarged, one's sense of how much suffering caused by human wickedness there is in the world we share with others. Someone who is perennially surprised that depravity exists, who continues to feel disillusioned (even incredulous) when confronted with evidence of what humans are capable of inflicting in the way of gruesome, hands-on cruelties upon other humans, has not reached moral or psychological adulthood.<br />No one after a certain age has a right to this kind of innocence, of superficiality, to this degree of ignorance, or amnesia.</i><br /><br />Yeah. I'm not sure how I would rewrite that, only that I really definitely would. It has become a speed-bump in an otherwise easy read. I get to that section and I wonder about it and I eventually go around in circles, which bears a remarkable resemblance to what I've been doing with my Thesis. <br /><br /></span>Mary Annhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14919523046521696675noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17520917.post-86096001458448028292007-07-20T22:31:00.001+02:002009-05-05T19:34:19.571+02:00We're Off<span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /><br />Tomorrow, way too early for anyone's good, we will depart for Michigan. Our travels will involve one borrowed car, two airports, a rental car, and a vacation house. And then we'll do it all in reverse four days later. Total travel time to get there: 9 hours. I'm going with Star and Dandelion. They're champion travelers by now, besides which, 9 hours (2 to get to the airport, 2 to wait in the airport, 2 on the plane, and 3 in the rental to get to the vacation house) is nothing. It was easily 26 hours to get from St. Louis to Beirut. EASILY. That includes 5 layover hours in Heathrow. Not a barrel of laughs. But they did it, and they might have even liked it. <br /><br />Star and Dandelion can't wait to see papa. Everything is better with papa. <br /><br /></span>Mary Annhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14919523046521696675noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17520917.post-70042066872055922452007-07-19T21:59:00.000+02:002007-07-20T03:59:26.163+02:00A Whole Lot of Nothing<span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /><br />Yes, Ladies and Gentlemen, that's what you've been reading here for nearly three months. What's that? Oh yes. You're right. <i>Four</i> months. Yes. <br /><br />I'm reading lots. But then, I've blogged about that. And I'm writing my Thesis. Oh, yes indeed I am. And I'm mommying. I mommy better than I do any of the rest of those things. AND . . . I've taken advantage of the summer arts festival in Boone, NC. Not impressed? Oh really? Well then, I have two words for you. <br /><br /><a href="http://markmorrisdancegroup.org/">Mark Morris</a> <br /><br />Enough said. <br /><br />I went on Tuesday. With my mother-in-law. No one has a better mother-in-law than I do. She rocks <i>and</i> we get along. So, while I've been blogging nothing at all rest assured that art just keeps right on happening. All the time. Sooner or later to reappear here. <br /><br /></span>Mary Annhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14919523046521696675noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17520917.post-19326261376197682942007-06-19T19:56:00.000+02:002007-06-20T02:56:34.060+02:00Hug<span style="font-family:georgia;"><br /><br />Hug: the artist not the verb.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_Haa_JhowNTfYkjelhsfEjMRzTEQhf2TolZ1iGy6hRR_C53-H1d9SvKox_i5ihn6g9xpRxPBHseGq6YbdBwiDbivnjzqcAtTY3IHUmohjpNYPHFMa2lAus7LfVP4eJO3NQnQi/s1600-h/img046.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_Haa_JhowNTfYkjelhsfEjMRzTEQhf2TolZ1iGy6hRR_C53-H1d9SvKox_i5ihn6g9xpRxPBHseGq6YbdBwiDbivnjzqcAtTY3IHUmohjpNYPHFMa2lAus7LfVP4eJO3NQnQi/s400/img046.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5077941189913487410" border="0" /></a>Interesting story behind this picture. It is actually a relic of my childhood. Aparently back when my mom and dad were recent acquaintances (1973?) they discussed (among other things) Fritz Hug. My mom had returned from Europe, disappointed I suppose, that she had come across art that she really liked and not purchased any of it--not even one print. My dad was just about to go back to Europe (where he and my grandfather would succeed in finding our ancestral home in Switzerland) and he asked if there was anything mom wanted from Europe. There was. She wanted something from Fritz Hug.<br /><br />Dad brought back a calendar, and they later had the pictures mounted and hung them on the walls of one apartment after another. This picture is one from that set. It and nine others survived two solid decades in our basement, where they were retired after my parents left the vagabond phase of their lives behind.<br /><br />I think my kids will like them. I do, anyway. In the late 1960s, Hug began painting endangered species for the World Wildlife Fund. These are almost definitely part of that project.<br /><br /></span>Mary Annhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14919523046521696675noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17520917.post-6865622956028019972007-06-15T20:28:00.001+02:002009-03-14T01:48:39.983+02:00Me Talk Pretty One Day<span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /><br />I certainly hope you've noticed a pattern by now. This is the third installment of 'art stuff in books not really about art', and today it'll be from David Sedaris, around page 51. This quote is drawn from the chapter <i>Twelve Moments in the Life of the Artist</i>, and this moment is number Nine in which David has become a performance-conceptual-happenings artist.<br /><br />------<br /><br />Watching the performances of my former colleagues, I got the idea that once you assembled the requisite props, the piece would more or less come together on its own. The inflatable shark naturally led to the puddle of heavy cream, which if lapped from the floor with slow steady precision, could account for up to twenty minutes of valuable stage time. All you had to do was maintain a shell-shocked expression and handle a variety of contradictory objects. It was the artist's duty to find the appropriate objects, and the audience's job to decipher meaning. If the piece failed to work, it was their fault, not yours.<br /><br />------<br /><br />It's Mary Ann again with a bit of summary: he goes to a thrift store for 'appropriate objects' and chooses a pile of sock monkeys. He tells the check out lady that he's an artist and she says her daughter is an artist too. <br /><br />------<br /><br />I looked into this woman's face, her fuzzy jowls hanging like saddlebags, and I pictured her reclining nude in a shallow pool of peanut oil. Were she smart enough to let me, I could use her as my living prop. I could be the best thing that ever happened to her, but sadly, she was probably too ignorant to appreciate it. Maybe one day I'd do a full length piece on the topic of stupidity, but in the meantime, I'd just pay for the sock monkeys, snort a few lines of speed, and finish constructing a bulletproof vest out of used flashlight batteries.<br /><br />------<br /><br />The whole chapter is like that--full of descriptions of his crazy projects and his self-important description of them. Oh yes, he took his art very seriously. I've been wondering if he made it all up or if he really did this stuff. If I ever get to meet him, I think I'll ask.<br /><br /></span>Mary Annhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14919523046521696675noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17520917.post-68329665570993906962007-06-13T18:25:00.000+02:002007-06-14T01:28:14.788+02:00Humboldt's Gift<span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /><br />The title of today's post is one-and-the-same with Saul Bellow's book, from which I, not coincidentally, will now quote extensively.<br /><br />Humboldt and Charlie, our two main characters, are talking. Or rather, Humboldt is talking (as always) and Charlie is (predictably) listening. Humboldt has been going for a while already and Charlie knows this rant well enough to see certain sections coming.<br /><br />------<br />And at this point Humboldt generally spoke of Antonin Artaud. Artaud, the playwright, invited the most brilliant intellectuals in Paris to a lecture. When they were assembled there was no lecture. Artaud came on stage and screamed at them like a wild beast. "Opened his mouth and screamed," said Humboldt. "Raging screams. While those Parisian intellectuals sat frightened. For them it was a delicious event. And why? Artaud as the artist was a failed priest. Failed priests specialize in blasphemy. Blasphemy is aimed at the community of believers. In this case, what kind of belief? Belief only in intellect, which a Ferenczi has now charged with madness. But what does it mean in a larger sense? It means that the only art intellectuals can be interested in is an art which celebrates the primacy of ideas. Artists must interest intellectuals, this new class. This is why the state of culture and the history of culture become the subject matter of art. This is why a refined audience of Frenchmen listens respectfully to Artaud screaming. For them the whole purpose of art is to suggest and inspire ideas and discourse. The educated people of modern countries are a thinking rabble at the stage of what Marx called primitive accumulation. Their business is to reduce masterpieces to discourse. Artaud's scream is an intellectual thing. First, an attack on the nineteenth-century 'religion of art,' which the religion of discourse wants to replace . . .<br />pgs. 31-2<br /><br />------<br /><br />Just thought it was interesting and passing it along. I've been thinking of all kinds of equivalent 'stunts' that artists have pulled. Empty galleries, performance art of any description, Warhol’s movies. And yeah, I half expect that they did it to see if people would stay in their seats.<br /><br /></span>Mary Annhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14919523046521696675noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17520917.post-64824221843779898092007-06-12T17:32:00.000+02:002007-06-13T00:32:36.588+02:00On Beauty<span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /><br />The title of the post is one-and-the-same with the title of a book I'm about to extensively quote. By Zadie Smith. If you'll be mad to find a potential spoiler here, I urge you to quit now. NOW.<br /><br />The scene is New England, a family home. The mother (Kiki) is clearing out the junk in her teen-age son's (Levi) bedroom. Her other son (Jerome, nearly 20) has lifted one end of his brother's bed off the ground so that she can clear out the crap.<br /><br />------<br />Jerome hiked up his end of the bed.<br />'Higher' requested Kiki and Jerome obliged. Suddenly Kiki's right knee slipped and her hand went to the floor. 'Oh my God' she whispered.<br />'What?'<br />'Oh my <i>God</i>'<br />'<i>What?</i> Is it porn? My arm's getting tired' Jerome lowered the bed a little.<br />'DON'T MOVE' screamed Kiki.<br />Jerome, terrified, lifted the bed higher. His mother was gasping like she was having some kind of fit.<br />'Mom--what? You're scaring me man. What is it?'<br />'I don't understand this. I DON'T UNDERSTAND THIS'<br />'Mom I can't hold this any longer'<br />'HOLD IT'<br />Jerome saw his mother grip the sides of something. She slowly began to pull out whatever it was from under the bed. <br />'What the . . . ?' said Jerome.<br />Kiki dragged the painting to the middle of the floor and sat next to it, hyperventilating. Jerome came up behind her and tried to touch her to calm her, but she slapped his hand away.<br />'Mom I don't understand what's going on. What <i>is</i> that?'<br />Then came the sound of the front door clicking and opening. Kiki lept to her feet and left the room, leaving Jerome to stare at the naked brown woman surrounded by her technicolor flowers and fruit.<br />------<br /><br />Clever, isn't it? Oh, we all know that tired old debate about where art ends and porn begins, and which kinds of nudity qalify in which categories. TIRED. And we have long since grown accustomed to seeing porn where we thought we'd find art. But I have to hand it to Zadie Smith. She's found a way to laugh at it all by dumping it upside down. She's put a nude paiting--art as much as art can be under the bed of a teenage boy, where a stash of porn would be entirely expected if not somehow required. I just love Jerome's question 'Is it porn?' (and holding up the bed, he can't see a thing). Brilliant.<br /><br />I love books that do this kind of thing. You wouldn't even know she was making fun of the distinction unless you knew to look for it. <br /><br /></span>Mary Annhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14919523046521696675noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17520917.post-67158961623721654952007-06-06T16:31:00.000+02:002007-06-06T23:41:30.275+02:00Not Quite Right<span style="font-family:georgia;"><br /><br />Right. So I said on the fourth that I was going to post the Second Coolest Family Picture Ever on the 5th.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuhg6hP1qhcdvEx6GboY0wra4Q4pz_5n-uwIRis4PMNKt_u4kvCakRABloRNwWgjeGb_Ou3sBrNpOHWI8UHYQ6KyIVW4Qy7_cp9RBRsAT5shkJEONczSo81aJqhA5TXCG-4UEe/s1600-h/family+Utah.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuhg6hP1qhcdvEx6GboY0wra4Q4pz_5n-uwIRis4PMNKt_u4kvCakRABloRNwWgjeGb_Ou3sBrNpOHWI8UHYQ6KyIVW4Qy7_cp9RBRsAT5shkJEONczSo81aJqhA5TXCG-4UEe/s400/family+Utah.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5073067471479384098" border="0" /></a><br />Well, this isn't the fifth nor is this the Second Coolest Family Picture Ever. This is a cheap a substitute for the </span><span style="font-family:georgia;">Second Coolest Family Picture Ever</span><span style="font-family:georgia;">, just like this is a cheap substitute for a real post. Not that this picture isn't great. It is, but it's out of the running all the same. We aren't all present. Left to right, you've got Sam, K8, Dad, Suz, and Joe. <br /><br />Anyway, I'm still trying to find the right picture. Matthew's got a copy of it hanging in the hallway in Beirut, but the scan I stumbled on the other day was in better condition.<br /><br /></span>Mary Annhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14919523046521696675noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17520917.post-42342066083384139582007-06-04T15:10:00.000+02:002007-06-04T22:14:53.417+02:00Coolest Family Picture Ever<span style="font-family:georgia;"><br /><br />I've been cleaning out the basement with my family. Yeah. Even more fun than it sounds like, because of cool stuff like this. <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaEHg8ifOeYkzG-y6-tuR7AL1-VkfMEFYsCOAK8GYPqs0ip-5uw_KZHhcVxMhRPzwW7dMUEDyVelEj0_3upAhBpMKNyTuX1ARJV9XOahAoqryQsQnaq3JzN1jZRg1cMnNnXB8J/s1600-h/1st+grade.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaEHg8ifOeYkzG-y6-tuR7AL1-VkfMEFYsCOAK8GYPqs0ip-5uw_KZHhcVxMhRPzwW7dMUEDyVelEj0_3upAhBpMKNyTuX1ARJV9XOahAoqryQsQnaq3JzN1jZRg1cMnNnXB8J/s400/1st+grade.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5072304157466215890" border="0" /></a><br />I drew this family portrait in first grade. There we all are. <br /><br />Stay tuned for the Second Coolest Famly Picture Ever tomorrow.<br /><br /></span>Mary Annhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14919523046521696675noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17520917.post-49983370181652707292007-05-14T22:53:00.000+02:002007-05-15T05:53:42.319+02:00Hello St. Louis<span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQAl15oN1TL8ux6Ogjsfnzc0xtQ1e5D1HeXuP_ZhG_K7lFIb1dDQtZnekkASZ06j3t0gOF1uzCU4eNtPfl_dLXoy26Sa9tdcO_TZD0d4D-6go2C_jkPycB5rICGqb5pGmqoX2H/s1600-h/DSC01829.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQAl15oN1TL8ux6Ogjsfnzc0xtQ1e5D1HeXuP_ZhG_K7lFIb1dDQtZnekkASZ06j3t0gOF1uzCU4eNtPfl_dLXoy26Sa9tdcO_TZD0d4D-6go2C_jkPycB5rICGqb5pGmqoX2H/s320/DSC01829.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5064629959156017122" border="0" /></a><br /><br />We're back. Not much art to blog about yet, but there will be eventually.<br /><br /></span>Mary Annhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14919523046521696675noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17520917.post-14266922759348354192007-05-04T08:50:00.000+02:002007-05-04T07:52:03.456+02:00Bye Bye, Beirut<span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /><br />This is my last blogging day in Lebanon until September, which frankly is so far away that I feel like I'm never coming back. And let's face it. I might not come back. Ever. Over the past two-ish years I often wondered if I'd ever miss Beirut at some distant future point. For quite a while it didn't look promising. I was sick of everything broken, everything dirty, everything disorganized, everything Lebanon. Then there was the war, the horribly mismanaged evacuation, the gut-wrenching uncertainty and powerlessness, the aching sense of loss. Loss. There are the people that I became attached to in spite of myself and hopes that I never managed to let go of. There are places that have become the wallpaper of my existence. There are smells, sounds, flavors that I found here and have learned to rely on. This has become my home. Love it, hate it, want to see it leveled to the ground but don't you dare change it. <br /><br />That's my Lebanon.<br /><br /></span>Mary Annhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14919523046521696675noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17520917.post-71477734789349119062007-05-03T10:33:00.000+02:002007-05-03T09:34:54.746+02:00Thesis Update<span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /><br />. . . as if there haven't been enough of those already. There have been. No, I'm not finished yet. Why? Who knows? <br /><br />But I do have a really good idea where I'm headed with it at least. That makes a difference. But I feel sick inside just thinking about it. Yuck. I think I need to go do some positive visualizations and affirmations and then maybe . . . if I'm lucky . . . I'll have it in me to finish it. How I would love to deal it a deadly blow.<br /><br /></span>Mary Annhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14919523046521696675noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17520917.post-70423104029517924152007-05-02T15:14:00.001+02:002009-04-10T15:56:49.319+02:00Don't Jump on the Art<span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /><br />One of our favorite public parks in Beirut has a bit of a sculpture garden along its southern ridge. We were there recently and the girls were doing their thing. <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtB6Y8Kp-GZb8yjGdHeN95CT0ATYTKQjJq5VqSOExLn1PhZBWb0-NJlqzSbp8yC6Z37uHjJ5zt0IetmvN0k2WVN0UMT2nKgHx8ma_-T-WA6N93HMgczMWB2954yQSkSEmSowaa/s1600-h/jump.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtB6Y8Kp-GZb8yjGdHeN95CT0ATYTKQjJq5VqSOExLn1PhZBWb0-NJlqzSbp8yC6Z37uHjJ5zt0IetmvN0k2WVN0UMT2nKgHx8ma_-T-WA6N93HMgczMWB2954yQSkSEmSowaa/s400/jump.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5059924040799201234" border="0" /></a><br />Look! I caught Dandelion mid-jump! <br /><br />Star discovered the joys of jumping on this "thing" two years ago, and once Dandelion learned to jump she joined her. It's actually quite springy. <br /><br />Not that I usually advocate jumping on art, but I have never seen anything wrong with this. The other sculptures in the park are equally accessible for climbing and indeed are climbed upon. <br /><br />I've always wondered about the shape, and recently I figured out why it looked familiar. It looks familiar because it is familiar. Duh. It's the drawing of an elephant that has been swallowed by a snake in <i>The Little Prince</i>. The Prince would have been disappointed in my ability to spot snake-swallowed elephants.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDUzTIf7Yajb-B4AMOmOjNu2Obp9sVbfGQKUgsvYidFwlfPi4bpzYXhli218ZIYtdiczM9dIMVFAOE8BXLx_MoNZpHhhDYZllvDICTTpsetrCuh_qQ4ZvhV-WmJDRRf6-BVBUr/s1600-h/elephant.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 186px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDUzTIf7Yajb-B4AMOmOjNu2Obp9sVbfGQKUgsvYidFwlfPi4bpzYXhli218ZIYtdiczM9dIMVFAOE8BXLx_MoNZpHhhDYZllvDICTTpsetrCuh_qQ4ZvhV-WmJDRRf6-BVBUr/s320/elephant.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5323061176343740306" /></a>I was right about the elephant-inside-a-snake thing too. If you look carefully you can just barely read HOMMAGE A ST. EXUPERY on the end where Star is jumping. I wish I could tell you more about this. Who made it? When? What else are they up to now? No idea. Maybe if I clear away some of the scrub growing around the edges I'll find more clues.<br /><br />Oh, and I intend to let my kids keep on jumping. I doubt the Prince would mind.<br /><br /></span>Mary Annhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14919523046521696675noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17520917.post-61254988439299530972007-05-01T20:16:00.000+02:002007-05-01T19:18:49.724+02:00Arman Beirut<span style="font-family:georgia;"><br /><br />A long, long time ago, <a href="http://computeraidedelirium.blogspot.com/2007/02/espoir-de-paix.html">Del</a> put up a picture of Arman's 1995 <i>Espoir de Paix</i>.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOlBEc5jkvTl-IgaHFoxK4aH5Vh4KZJ9Y2Vly_MKyXygQC1UZuaK0pLYN6Lpf7K4s1F3uCNeWthF4LbhX-fnYcRxewgCOf3z3hS_KrpPz1FfgOuOdbMjjc7qrZoVt8S86ZkRXS/s1600-h/arman1995.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOlBEc5jkvTl-IgaHFoxK4aH5Vh4KZJ9Y2Vly_MKyXygQC1UZuaK0pLYN6Lpf7K4s1F3uCNeWthF4LbhX-fnYcRxewgCOf3z3hS_KrpPz1FfgOuOdbMjjc7qrZoVt8S86ZkRXS/s400/arman1995.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5059636076126906306" border="0" /></a><br />Her picture is a good deal better. Its hard to get a good picture of it, and anyway, I wasn't really trying. Go see hers. It shows it from a different angle.<br /><br />Anyway, ever since her post, I've been wondering exactly where to find it. Since directions are impossible here and basically don't exist I was so pleased to happen upon it by chance one day as I was driving home from my husband's ancestral village in the valley. With the pesky location problem solved I'd been waiting for the right day to go visit it. And today was the day.<br /><br />If you click over to Del's blog, you'll see that there's some negative sentiment about this monument to the Lebanese Army. It's ugly, sure, but that's not really a problem for contemporary art. Ugly is our old standby.<br /><br />It it has an important flaw and this is it: the <i>Espoir de Paix</i> in an ineffective memorial. This was comissioned for the 50th anniversary of the Lebanese Army. So, lets ask ourselves what an army ought to be. Well, at the very least it should not be stuck, encumbered, weighed down, static, literally made up of obsolete equipment that is trapped in cement anyway. None of the associations are good.<br /><br />Well, Arman's reputation is a good association, but only for the art-obsessed. They know that it is significant that something like this is here in Beirut. But that's something for the culture crowd to cheer about, not the army.<br /><br /></span>Mary Annhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14919523046521696675noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17520917.post-81680200811693275182007-04-30T11:50:00.000+02:002007-04-30T11:14:59.958+02:00Name That Movie<span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheGV_p4sXtviKa78c-dMsa1rNKakgGfXWznouPk5yrFNIfHQgu-k9jTeItQC7rM7Ix5qQVFj38ojatjtHBHAkGbQsXUwdcgaD12QQMSfHevbG7SC5VYqswsf8h0qQvci4jAiyJ/s1600-h/earth+stars.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheGV_p4sXtviKa78c-dMsa1rNKakgGfXWznouPk5yrFNIfHQgu-k9jTeItQC7rM7Ix5qQVFj38ojatjtHBHAkGbQsXUwdcgaD12QQMSfHevbG7SC5VYqswsf8h0qQvci4jAiyJ/s400/earth+stars.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5031310500741992418" border="0" /></a><br /><br /></span>Mary Annhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14919523046521696675noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17520917.post-27976859653976850562007-04-27T22:14:00.000+02:002007-04-27T21:15:09.496+02:00The Birthday that Wasn't<span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /><br />Today, Star ought to have had a little birthday party at school, but there was much ado about nothing in Beirut today and school was canceled. But I wasn't to know that last night when I was preparing for the festivities. Star decided that bubble-blow would be a great party favor for all her little friends at school. I liked that idea, except for the fact that bubble-blow is exactly the kind of thing that gets branded all the time. You can't just get bubbles, they're going to be barbie, pooh bear, dora, or diego bubbles. That's bad. Yes, it is. I think kids ought to be free from that kind of thing, especially when they’re blowing bubbles. <br /><br />So, I got out my wrapping paper and covered up the labels. I did a nice job too, see?<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjISDP15Zpp4BTvprKIFtY-K6leM89cMbVW4DUmETluVHFoJz-cAfWp5UioLOKKgPt_YsR72O0LrXpZ-TX1uf_Xa1r_qS1HP0TKBRlztOTYR_TeVFiBb1jqCAz7Ku_MjSVT6TmC/s1600-h/bday.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjISDP15Zpp4BTvprKIFtY-K6leM89cMbVW4DUmETluVHFoJz-cAfWp5UioLOKKgPt_YsR72O0LrXpZ-TX1uf_Xa1r_qS1HP0TKBRlztOTYR_TeVFiBb1jqCAz7Ku_MjSVT6TmC/s400/bday.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5058185468102551474" border="0" /></a><br />I've got all 25 of them ready (oh, I don't think there are that many kids in her class, but I figured better too many than too few) and waiting. Just as soon as the "mood on the ground" stabilizes and people go back to their day-in day-out, Star will have a great class party. This weekend of course, there will be two parties. Dandelion on Saturday, Star on Sunday. <br /><br /></span>Mary Annhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14919523046521696675noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17520917.post-9838874189422412582007-04-26T17:45:00.000+02:002007-04-26T16:49:07.882+02:00See and be Seen<span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /><br />I'm about half way through the first book in the <i>Cairo Trilogy</i> by Naguib Mahfouz. Why am I reading the trilogy? First, because Mahfouz is the only Arabic-language writer to ever receive the Nobel Prize for literature. Second, it came highly recommended. Third, it is well written. Not even being translated into English could ruin the quality of the writing. <br /><br />(those reasons are in chronological order, not priority order. Nobel Prizes have not redeemed other authors I’ve picked up in the past)<br /><br />So, like I said, I'm about half way into the first book, <i>Palace Walk</i>, and I just (literally 5 minutes ago) read the passage where Amina, the mother in the story's central family, has been persuaded by her children to venture out into the street for the first time EVER. This is a very traditional family, with a very authoritarian, unkind, and distant father. He leaves for a short business trip when her teen-aged and adult children convince her that there is no sin in visiting a nearby mosque/shrine (Amina is devout). She covers herself with her maid's shawl, veils her face, and is accompanied by her male sons. We get a third-person omniscient description of it:<br /><br /><i>As she crossed the threshold of the outer door and entered the street, she experienced a moment of panic. Her mouth felt dry and her pleasure was dispelled by a fit of anxiety. She had an oppressive feeling of doing something wrong. She moved slowly and grasped Kamal's hand nervously. Her gait seemed disturbed and unsteady as though she had not mastered the first principles of walking. She was gripped by intense embarrassment as she showed herself to the eyes of people she had known for ages but only through the peephole in the enclosed balcony. Uncle Hasanayn, the barber, Darwish, who sold beans, al-Fuli, the milkman, Bayumi, the drinks vendor, and Abu Sari', who sold snacks - she imagined that they all recognized her jsut as she did them. She had difficulty convincing herself of the obvious fact that none of them had ever seen her before in their lives. </i><br /><br />I've often thought about what the veil does both to the one veiled and to the one seeing it. It certainly sets up an uneven relationship, one in which I would guess that the concealed party has more power. Sort of like the soldier in camo--there's a degree of protection in being able to vanish. <br /><br />I've also thought a lot about my relationship to the fact that some women cover (to varying extents). Our neighbors on the floor below are Muslim, and the wife covers her head and wears clothing that covers her from neck to feet (pant-suits, but the kind that reveal nothing). Inside the house though, she dresses just like me. My husband has never seen that. He's also never seen her hair, the way it compliments and softens her face. He has no idea that she is beautiful. I, because I'm a woman too, have access to a part of her world that is not available to any man who isn't blood-related to her. <br /><br />Appearances, what we allow others (and which others at that) to see is ultimately about control. You can't stop others using their eyes to judge the world. The best you can hope for is to really get what it is that they might see in you.<br /><br /></span>Mary Annhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14919523046521696675noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17520917.post-33392586769821883032007-04-25T09:03:00.001+02:002009-04-10T16:00:18.894+02:00Will to Art<span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /><br />I've written about artistic <a href="http://householddaily.blogspot.com/2005/10/artistic-intent.html">intent</a>, <a href="http://householddaily.blogspot.com/2005/12/viewing-art-originality.html">originality</a>, <a href="http://householddaily.blogspot.com/2007/01/art-because-i-say-so.html">authorship</a> <a href="http://householddaily.blogspot.com/2005/11/independence.html">etc.</a> on a number of occasions. Those exercises are interesting, but today we are faced with something of a conundrum in the form of a Jean Arp collage.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5IsLfNQzKlsuK1cYcZ0egCS8rl2BiZ6tP3Ag1fOnxPCI4IGHns3gdeK77RBkKXI4xnRKIgZwsCDoT64UGIHULj3Il0nUhyphenhyphenwCTGaG4OGieNijIoRUlfeMcZIrEnAEc0ldhtq_5/s1600-h/Arp.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 234px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5IsLfNQzKlsuK1cYcZ0egCS8rl2BiZ6tP3Ag1fOnxPCI4IGHns3gdeK77RBkKXI4xnRKIgZwsCDoT64UGIHULj3Il0nUhyphenhyphenwCTGaG4OGieNijIoRUlfeMcZIrEnAEc0ldhtq_5/s320/Arp.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5323062118869390354" /></a><br />That's Arp's <i>Collage with Squares Arranged According to the Laws of Chance</i> 1916-17.<br /><br />To make this collage, Arp apparently dropped the blue and white paper scraps onto the lager, gray paper and then "further developed the collages by arranging the pieces automatically, without will."<br /><br />Now that's really something. Is Arp saying that he is able to overcome free will? I think he must be, because if he was a determinist that would be stating an irrelevant, obvious fact. Why bother? I don't think he did. I think Arp thought he had a will that generally got in the way of the automatic process he favored.<br /><br />So we've now come to the $50 question (except the $50 is fake). Assuming you've got free will (and those of you who follow my husband's blog know that he's been thinking a whole lot about that lately) can you shut it down? Can you will not to will? Isn't that like thinking about not thinking?<br /><br />Well, Arp thought he could, and according to MoMA's <a href="http://www.moma.org/collection/browse_results.php?object_id=37013">page about this collage</a>, it was by willing not to will that Arp's subconscious was able to allow a more essential, natural composition to emerge. Yeah.<br /><br />For a while I've been thinking about doing a series here at Impart Art where I go through and recreate the works of other artists, and every time that thought crosses my mind this collage comes with it. But now that I've gotten myself good and confused about free will and whether I can will myself not to will, well, I don't think I'm interested.<br /><br /></span>Mary Annhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14919523046521696675noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17520917.post-88216800144449605052007-04-24T07:35:00.000+02:002007-04-24T08:27:42.511+02:00The Family Jewels<span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /><br />Here is an image of two necklaces that my paternal grandmother gave me. I'm sure that they were Christmas presents. <br /><br />The green one most definitely came from Central America where my grandparents lived for two years in the late 1980s. I could not have been older than 12 when I received it. At the time I'm sure I didn't know or care that I'd been given jade. 10 years later fashion had changed, I was an adult, and suddenly the necklace was interesting to me for the first time. I've been wearing it ever since, and wearing it out. A few years ago I re-strung it with plastic spacer beads between the jade stones.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiS7IdYW17jC780pEjKK4mbjlVRHiSLKNDiE483nryXlji18nvOFuN4JXDWR2pxaszewrgNy0iOerELhy0rFrNooRO1VfAXAiBN1vzq8bt_3ghUgOC0kkgfEqM9db1ISgsLwVq/s1600-h/family+jewels.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiS7IdYW17jC780pEjKK4mbjlVRHiSLKNDiE483nryXlji18nvOFuN4JXDWR2pxaszewrgNy0iOerELhy0rFrNooRO1VfAXAiBN1vzq8bt_3ghUgOC0kkgfEqM9db1ISgsLwVq/s400/family+jewels.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5056864547030967522" border="0" /></a><br /><br />I have no idea about the origins of the other necklace (other than its entry into my life as a gift from grandmother). It came in a very lovely orange box. Because grandmother traveled the world several times over I have no idea where it might have come from. My amateur-gemologist husband tells me that this one is amber. Maybe it is. Grandmother has very likely been to the Baltic States and the Dominican Republic where amber comes from. When I saw her two weeks ago I didn't have the necklace with me or I would have asked her. But she might not have remembered anyway. Like the jade necklace, this one sat in the basement of my parents’ home for a decade before I changed my mind about it, and quite likely two decades before I retrieved it. <br /><br />In part I value these necklaces simply as gifts from my grandmother. But part of me values what they represent to me now; the foolishness of my youth, the transience of fashion, the merits of waiting a few years or decades before discarding another's treasures. And another part of me reflects with something like wonder that my grandmother never seemed concerned that I (as a child) didn't know how to appreciate these gifts.<br /><br /></span>Mary Annhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14919523046521696675noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17520917.post-8714424355837734422007-04-23T12:00:00.000+02:002007-04-23T11:00:23.430+02:00The Bastard of Istanbul<span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /><br />While in the US I started and finished 'The Bastard of Istanbul' by Elif Shafak. In the author's acknowledgements she states, "Between the Turkish edition and the English edition of this novel in 2006, I was put on trial for "denigrating Turkishness" under article 301 of the Turkish Penal Code. The charges that were brought against me were due to the words that some of the Armenian characters spoke in the novel; I could have been given up to a three-year prison sentence, but the charges were eventually dropped."<br /><br />Well, folks, that's pretty much why I bought the book, and I only bought it because there is no library to borrow it from. I really wanted to read it. I'm glad I did. It is a book full of characters who are (usually in more than one way) between cultures. And since that's my whole life, I was interested. <br /><br />Its the first time I've read a book and thought "I could write this better". How's that for arrogance? But honestly, there were too many times when the reader is told rather than shown, and the telling wasn't convincing. On the other had there were some sections that were perfect. There's no other word for it, they were really that good. Its too bad that many of the characters seem like rough sketches or paper-doll cut-outs. Oddly, its the dead characters that really seem alive. <br /><br />Anyway, enough of that. In one rather neat section, the author describes various dishes in a restaurant in terms of modern art they resemble:<br />Sesame-crusted ahi tuna tartare with foie gras yakiniku appears as Francesco Boretti's <i><a href="http://boretti.tripod.com/labattonacieca.jpg">The Blind Whore</a></i> (you'll have to scroll down). Prime rib-eye with hot mustard cream sauce on a bed of pasison fruit vinaigrette and jicama materializes as a Mark Rothko <i><a href="http://www.nga.gov/feature/rothko/classic1.shtm">Untitled</a></i>. (No I don't know which 'Untitled' the author intended, and I've made no effort to find one that could be recreated in steak, mustard, and passion fruit.)<br /><br />These dishes are brought to the table where one of the central characters is having dinner with a cameo-character who is even more paper-doll like than she is. When dessert arrives (without the reader hearing the characters order) they are described as Peter Kitchell's <i><a href="http://www.peterkitchell.com/work_as_watercolors.html">April Blues Bring May Yellows</a></i> and Jackson Pollock's <i><a href="http://www.moma.org/ecards/write_ecard.php?object_id=78376">Shimmering Substance</a></i>. <br /><br />At first, both characters find it a bit overwhelming to munch their way through great works of art but eventually forget and eat freely. <br /><br />Art as Food, made by a chef who wanted to be a philosopher and then an artist, and after failing at both turned to food. I'm still trying to figure out why the author included this restaurant scene at all. It wasn't one of the books strong moments, and I can't help trying to figure out what she meant for it to accomplish, because I must be observing its failure to deliver. Otherwise, would I be wondering?<br /><br /></span>Mary Annhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14919523046521696675noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17520917.post-51543913043050991022007-04-20T00:25:00.000+02:002007-04-20T11:27:40.393+02:00Ahem<span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /><br />Happy April. I just got back from St. Louis and a trip to see my grandparents who are just outside Vegas. Yes, this is the first time I've posted in a month. No, that wasn't intentional. No, I haven't given it up. Yes, I expected to have more down time while in the US, but yeah, that was silly of me. What's that? Yeah, it was a good visit, but I'm happy to be back. Yes I am. <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQ0Jh2XwsFlPykYjMuyUznnRx-F13XJuYBjLPD384L7fO-i9n4cdwTKxW0KW-0dfQuD8_SvxxUIWI2ue7KwPtTtp6XIIIJPPkFrExMDP949wTIzmZFQ6UriA6JB8S0ZLoPuzfH/s1600-h/hike.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQ0Jh2XwsFlPykYjMuyUznnRx-F13XJuYBjLPD384L7fO-i9n4cdwTKxW0KW-0dfQuD8_SvxxUIWI2ue7KwPtTtp6XIIIJPPkFrExMDP949wTIzmZFQ6UriA6JB8S0ZLoPuzfH/s400/hike.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5055432587754611922" border="0" /></a><br />That's me on the way back down from Angel's Landing, a spectacular hike in <a href="http://www.nps.gov/zion/">Zion's National Park</a>, with siblings, of course. My dad took the picture. <br /><br />I've been reading, reading, reading which has been a nice diversion from writing, writing, writing. Art played an interesting bit-part in one of the books I got on the trip and I think I'll blog that tomorrow. <br /><br />A trip to St. Louis always involves at least a few hours of going through my old stuff (which is very neatly confined to two cedar chests--when I impose on people I'd like to think I do it with care), and this visit I hit the jackpot. I was fortunate enough to stumble upon my photo album from highschool, which really was more like a portfolio showcasing the wish I briefly entertained to become a photographer. I also retrieved a necklace that my grandmother gave me at least 15 years ago that (like most things she has given me) I had no appreciation for at the time. My parents had taken good care of my 'Northern Renaissance' and 'Art and its Significance' text books after I left them there six years ago. Anyway, foder, all of it is foder.<br /><br /></span>Mary Annhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14919523046521696675noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17520917.post-71764795913819218712007-03-28T12:12:00.000+02:002007-04-28T12:44:54.228+02:00Élisabeth-Louise Vigée-Le Brun<span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /><br />Élisabeth-Louise Vigée-Le Brun's <i>Marie Antoinette and her children</i>, 1787.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgT_KWJTRkFqXMK5D2iA_QlMpywV-u_QPuRZTqZdyeL7el502Y0IIbz4a43lS8jyVF-czG0ay7kaocjrZM2SpT0vTc7OKfWXoUIpSsYy-pXYkbVrVTboZtGGsOhATJsPljQ8jL4/s1600-h/Vig%C3%A9e-Le+Brun.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgT_KWJTRkFqXMK5D2iA_QlMpywV-u_QPuRZTqZdyeL7el502Y0IIbz4a43lS8jyVF-czG0ay7kaocjrZM2SpT0vTc7OKfWXoUIpSsYy-pXYkbVrVTboZtGGsOhATJsPljQ8jL4/s400/Vig%C3%A9e-Le+Brun.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5046894864665420994" border="0" /></a><br />Vigée-Le Brun is yet another french woman that I really wish I had learned more about a long time ago. Unlike some of the other 'forgotten French ladies', it is easy to find information about Vigée-Le Brun. I've linked to a fantastic web-resource where you can view a copy of nearly every painting she ever made. It is nice that, while we know almost nothing about some of the marvelous lady-painters that France produced around the turn of the 19th century, there are others who have had their stories told.<br /><br />Vigée-Le Brun was (as the image here indicates) a well regarded portrait painter and in the good graces of the French royal family. They and the aristocracy kept her busy until the French Revolution swept them all away. Worried that her connections with them were a bit too tight, Vigée-Le Brun left France for Italy, Russia, and Austria (later she would leave again for Switzerland). One admirer wrote that she "knew and painted the portraits of just about every prominent figure in Europe and Russia from approximately 1770 to 1835." Not bad.<br /><br />She was a member of artists' acadamies and societies around Europe. First the Académie de Saint Luc in 1774, then Académie Royale de Peinture et de Sculpture in 1783, the Accademia di San Luca in Rome, the Academy of Fine Arts of Saint Petersburg, and later the Swiss Société pour l'Avancement des Beaux-Arts. A cosmopolitan, if there ever was one. <br /><br />Read more <a href="http://www.batguano.com/vigee.html">here</a>.<br /><br /></span>Mary Annhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14919523046521696675noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17520917.post-57531466772317134442007-03-27T20:56:00.000+02:002007-04-28T12:44:54.228+02:00Marguerite Gérard<span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /><br />This is Marguerite Gérard's 1804 <i>Bad News</i><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0QfFpb_vqLYm0-3h-F4dvhn0jY58bjHs2bN46qnfDLK1XPIPpsriWJmsyW-yWDwcTlwWM65dQm-bqr-H_QlwvUBAurVxssH8SoB2vKJHRQDm6ogXjsG8f8_DbDOviQbOzhDC1/s1600-h/gerard.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0QfFpb_vqLYm0-3h-F4dvhn0jY58bjHs2bN46qnfDLK1XPIPpsriWJmsyW-yWDwcTlwWM65dQm-bqr-H_QlwvUBAurVxssH8SoB2vKJHRQDm6ogXjsG8f8_DbDOviQbOzhDC1/s400/gerard.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5039171120364832818" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Clearly, the lady in blue has just read a letter bearing bad tidings. Her attentive friend has produced the smelling salts, which a woman surely needs in such times as these. And even the dog, as though to prove that this isn't just some melodramatic act, looks on with great interest.<br /><br />Gérard (1761-1837) is another one of those French women painters whose legacy resides at the margins of art and art history. Unlike the other French ladies we've seen this month, Gérard's work wouldn't be confused with David's. It would (and has been) confused with the work of Fragonard, her brother-in-law. The two collaborated, influenced the other's work. It is easy enough to find web references that put Gérard forward as Fragonard's very savior, the influence that saved him from his dedication to Rococo even after the style had fallen out of favor.<br /><br />Many of Gérard's images are much like the one above. <i>Bad News</i> is a scene of women, and I'd guess it is also intended for women. After all, they attended exhibitions too. Like other painters of her day, Gérard's work centers on the world she lived in, and that world consisted of well appointed homes, loving families, and wealthy friends. With so many women painting and patronizing the arts, it is unsurprising that mundane moments of their lives ended up on canvas.<br /><br /></span>Mary Annhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14919523046521696675noreply@blogger.com1